SUCH  NONSENSE! 
CAROLYN    WELLS 


THE  PRINCESS  PERILLA 

Love  has  wings, — so  people  say; 
And  thus  love-letters  fly  away. 


By  Florence  Lundborg 


SUCH    NONSENSE! 

An  Anthology 


BY 

CAROLYN   WELLS 

AUTHOR  OF  "FAULKNER'S  FOLLY,"  "THE  BRIDE  OF  A  MOMENT.' 

"THE  ROOM  WITH  THE  TASSELS,"  "THE  NONSENSE  ANTHOLOGY.' 

"THE  WHIMSET  ANTHOLOGY,"  ETC. 


NEW  XSJTYORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1918, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


DEDICATION 

THIS  MASTERPIECE  OF  LITERATURE 

AND  ART 

TO 

HARRIET  SPRAGUE 

MY  FRIEND  OF  THE  COMRADE  HEART. 

AND  MAY  THE  JINGLE  OF  THE  CAP  AND  BELLS 

REMIND  HER  NOW  AND  THEN  OP 

CAROLYN  WELLS 


FOREWORD 

This  book,  I  have  no  sort  of  doubt, 
Will  be  commended  by  the  critics ; 

'Twill  be  much  praised  and  talked  about 
By  connoisseurs  of  analytics. 

Though  here  and  there  some  grouch  may  guy  it, 

'Most  every  one  will  rush  to  buy  it. 

'Tis  not  as  easy  as  it  seems ; 

Not  every  bard  may  write  Such  Nonsense; 
The  able  wits  who  chose  these  themes 

Placed  for  the  time  a  ban  upon  sense ; 
Doffed  cap  and  gown  that  they  were  wearing, 
And  forth  in  cap  and  bells  went  faring. 

You'll  find  here  verse  by  youngsters  smart, 
And  by  great  minds  of  rank  and  splendour ; 

From  masterhands  of  lyric  art 

Down  to  the  cheapest  ballad-vendor. 

Some  hinting  shocks,  some  boldly  reckless, 

But  every  one  hand-picked  and  speckless. 

It's  hard  to  make  a  book  like  this 

A  really  meritorious  volume. 
You  can't  collect  stuff,  hit  or  miss, 

As  colyumists  make  up  their  colyum ; 
So  much  depends  on  the  compiler, 
And  on  her  skill  and  technique  stylar. 

vii 


viii  FOREWORD 


It  is  a  tricky  thing  to  do, 

One  must  have  clearest  mental  vision 
And  perfect  taste  and  judgment  true, 

To  choose  with  wisdom  and  precision ; 
I  know,  with  fine  evaluation 
You'll  sense  my  rare  discrimination. 

There's  much  debate  in  many  a  school 
On  what  is  balderdash  and  what  art; 

I  have  one  simple  little  rule, 

Whatever  makes  me  sick  is  not  art. 

I'm  monarch  in  my  own  dominion, 

This  book  is  art, — in  my  opinion. 

Don't  blame  me  if  you  don't  agree 

Invariably  with  my  selection ; 
I  may  have  put  in  two  or  three 

To  which  you  would  accord  rejection. 
Waste  not  your  time  in  vain  complaining, 
Skip  those,  and  read  the  gems  remaining. 

I  trust  that  you  will  buy  this  book ; 

'Twill  pleasure  me  and  Mr.  Doran ; 
Think  how  well  on  your  shelves  'twill  look 

Standing  beside  The  Cid  or  Koran. 
You'll  find  it  so  intensely  funny, 
That  you'll  be  glad  you  blew  the  money. 

Though  you'll  enjoy  the  verbal  stunts, 
You  know  the  penalty  of  laughter ; 

Don't  read  the  whole  book  through  at  once, 
Or  maybe  you'll  be  sorry  after. 

For,  and  this  is  no  laughing  matter, 

You'll  laugh  so  much  you  may  grow  fatter. 

I've  heard  it  said  the  wisest  men 
A  bit  of  nonsense  oft  will  relish ; 

With  my  praise  it  is  needless  then 
This  volume  further  to  embellish. 

As  Shakespeare  truly  says,  'tis  silly 

To  gild  gold  or  handpaint  the  lily. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  Two  OLD  BACHELORS.    Edward  Lear 17 

WONDERS  OF  NATURE.    The  Anti-Jacobin 18 

THIS  Is  THE  MUSE  OF  NONSENSE.     Gelett  Burgess  ....  19 

BUNCHES  OF   GRAPES.     Walter  Ramal 20 

To  MY  NEW  PET.    Anonymous 20 

THERE  ARE  MEN  IN  THE  VILLAGE  OF  ERITH.    Cosmo  Monkkouse  21 

A  TRAGIC  STORY.     William  Makepeace  Thackeray  ....  22 

THE  FASTIDIOUS  SERPENT.    Henry  Johnstone        ....  22 

ADAM.     Captain  Harry  Graham     .        . 24 

BREAD  AND  MILK.    Anonymous 24 

GOOD  AND  BAD.     George  Barr  Barker 25 

A  POEM  OF  UPLIFT.    Anonymous 25 

MAVRONE.    Arthur  Guiterman 26 

PERCHANCE.     Walter  Parke 28 

THE   THINGUMBOB.    Anonymous 28 

THE  ENDLESS  SONG.     Ruth  McEnery  Stuart 28 

ON  KNOWING  WHEN  TO  STOP.    L.  J.  Bridgman      ....  28 

THE  DYSPEPTIC  CANNIBAL.    Alfred  E.  Dickey      ....  29 

MODERN  NATURE  LORE.    Anonymous 30 

THE  OLD  MAN.    Anonymous 30 

WING  TEE  WEE.    J.  P.  Denison 30 

MATERNAL  COUNSEL.    J.  G.  Francis 31 

ERRING  IN  COMPANY.    Franklin  P.  Adams     .        .        .        .        .31 

KINDLY  ADVICE.     O.  P.  Q.  Smiff 32 

SAINTE  MARGERIE.    Anonymous 33 

JABBERWOCKY.    Rendered  into  Latin  Elegiacs.     Hassard  Dodgson  34 

DER  JAMMERWOCH.     Thomas  Chatterton 35 

SoMEWHERE-iN-EuROPE-WocKY.    F.  G.  Hartsunck  ....  36 

THE  JABBERWOCKY   PUBLISHERS.    Anonymous       ....  36 

MONA  LISA.    John  Kendrick  Bangs 37 

FOOTBALLWOCKY.    Anonymous 37 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  ASP.    Carolyn  Wells 38 

THE  NAPOLEON  OF  NOTTING  HILL.    Gilbert  Chesterton  ...  38 

ALL  AT  SEA.    Frederick  Moxon 41 

THE  RIME  OP  THE  BETSY  JANE.    Bert  Lesion  Taylor      ...  42 

THE  POST  CAPTAIN.     Charles  E.  Carryl 43 

THE  YARN  OP  THE  "NANCY  BELL."     W.S.Gilbert.        ...  44 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  BILLYCOCK.    Anthony  C.  Deane  ...  46 

CLASSICAL  CRITICISM.     George  L.  Richardson 47 

NEMESIS.    .7.  W.  Foley 48 

REUBEN.     Phebe  Gary 48 

THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER.    Grace  G.  Wiederseim     ....  49 

DIVIDED  DESTINIES.     Rudyard  Kipling 50 

THE  NEW  VESTMENTS.     Edward  Lear 51 

FROM  THE  UFFIZI  A.  B.  C.    Arthur  Maquarie 52 

THE  LLAMA.    Hilaire  Belloc .53 

ODE  TO  A  BOBTAILED  CAT.    Anonymov,s 54 

A  LULLABY.    Anonymous 54 

THE  TURTLE  AND  THE  FLAMINGO.    James  Thomas  Fields  ...  55 

WIDOW  BEDOT  TO  ELDER  SNIFFLES.    Frances  Miriam  Whitcher      .  58 

SONG  OF  THE  SPRINGTIDE.    Anonymous 58 

THE  JIM-JAM  KING  OF  THE  Jou-Jous.    Alaric  Bertrand  Stuart     .  59 

LEPIDOPTERA.     Gerald  Mygatt 59 

FAITHLESS  SALLY  BROWN.     Thomas  Hood 60 

REVAMPED  BY  VAMPIRES.    Anonymous    ......  61 

FROM  THE  SANSCRIT  OF  MATABILIWAIJO.    Sir  Owen  Seaman  .        .  62 

To  A  PET  REPTILE.    Anonymous 62 

BETWEEN  THE  SUNSET  AND  THE  SEA.    R.  W.  Answell    ...  63 

LORD  GUY.     George  F.  Warren 63 

BUY  A  BAROM:  BUY  A  BAROM.    Frank  O'Malley  ....  64 

A  STRIKE  AMONG  THE  POETS.    From  Punch 64 

THE  CANNY  CROCODILE.    Anonymous 65 

THE  PRODIGAL  EGG.    Anonymous 65 

A  GRAIN  OF  SALT.    Wallace  Irwin 65 

MOTHERHOOD.    Charles  Stuart  Calverley 66 

SONNET  FOR  A  PICTURE.    A.  C.  Swinburne 66 

OUR  DUMB  FRIENDS.    Carolyn  Wells 67 

HE  LOVES  A  POSTER  GIRL.    Anonymous 67 

His  MOTHER-IN-LAW.    Anonymous 68 


CONTENTS  xi 


PAGE 

BYGONES.    Bert  Leston  Taylor 68 

WE  WERE  ON  THE  STARBOARD  TACK.     Gelett  Burgess    ...  68 

THE  HEN-KOOST  MAN.     Ruth  McEnery  Stuart      ....  69 

THE  VIPER.    Hilaire  Belloc 70 

MANUAL  OP  MANNERS  FOR  YOUNG  ANIMALS.    Anonymous      .        .  70 

THE  LEARNED  FISH.    Hilaire  Belloc 70 

I  WISH  THAT  MY  ROOM  HAD  A  FLOOR.     Gelett  Burgess  ...  71 

APPLICATION  FOR  INSURANCE.     Charles  Wayland  Towne        .        .  72 

CAUTIONARY  VERSES.    Theodore  Hook 74 

GOOD  JAMES  AND  NAUGHTY  REGINALD.    Eugene  Field    ...  74 

ARE  WOMEN  FAIR?    Francis  Davison 76 

THE  PICKERLICK.    Anonymous        .        .        .  .        .        .76 

A  LION  EMERGED  FROM  His  LAIR.    J.  G.  Francis  ....  77 

OLD  GRIMES.    Albert  Gorton  Greene 78 

ON  A  NANKIN  PLATE.    Austin  Dobscm 78 

THE  LEARNED  NEGRO.    Anonymous ,  .        .  79 

GOING  WITH  THE  STREAM.    Arthur  H.  Clough 79 

To  THE  PLIOCENE  SKULL.    Bret  Harie 80 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE'S  STORY.    Charles  E.  Carryl      .  .        .81 

,  LINES  ON  MONTEZUMA.    D.  F.  A 82 

AN  UTTER  PASSION  UTTERED  UTTERLY.     John  Todhunter      .        .  8  ] 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY'S  RECITATION.    Lewis  Carroll    ....  83 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  OYSTERMAN.    Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   .        .  84 

A  HISTORY.    Tom  Hood,  Jr 84 

THE  CONVERTED  CANNIBALS.    G.  E.  Farrow 85 

THE  YOUNG  GAZELLE.     Walter  Parke '     .  86 

IMAGISTE  LOVE  LINES.    Anonymous 87 

I  NEVER  SAW  A  PURPLE  Cow.     Gelett  Burgess      ....  88 
DIVERSIONS    OF    THE    RE-ECHO    CLUB — PURPLE    Cow    Sequence. 

Carolyn  Wells       .        .        . 88 

AH,  YES  ;  I  WROTE  THE  PURPLE  Cow.    Gelett  Burgess  .        .        .  91 

CLEAN  CLARA.     W.  B.  Rands 94 

A  NEW  PAPER  FOR  BIPEDS.    Anonymous 95 

IN  STATU  Quo.     Gelett  Burgess 96 

OUR  TRAVELER.    H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell 99 

How  A  GIRL  WAS  Too  RECKLESS  OF  GRAMMAR  BY  FAR.    Guy 

Wetmore  Carryl 100 

WILD  FLOWERS.    Peter  Newell        .        .        .  100 


xii  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  RETIRED  PORK-BUTCHER  AND  THE  SPOOK.  G.  E.  Farrow  .  .  101 

LILIES.  Don  Marquis 103 

FRAUD.  Anonymous 103 

CHRISTMAS  CHIMES.  Anonymous 103 

YE  TOWNE  GOSSIP.  Kenneth  C.  Beaton 104 

L 'ENVOI  OP  THE  CUBISTS.  Anonymous 105 

BALLADE  CRYING  ART  TO  STOP  HER  NONSENSE.  Eugene  E.  White  106 

POST-IMPRESSIONISM.  Bert  Leston  Taylor 106 

A  SYMPOSIUM  OP  POETS.  Carolyn  Wells  ......  107 

STYX  RIVER  ANTHOLOGY.  Carolyn  Wells 107 

THE  NEO-NEOISM.  Franklin  P.  Adams 109 

THE  MESSED  DAMOZEL.  Charles  Hanson,  Towne  ....  109 

ELLEN  McJoNES  ABERDEEN.  William  8.  Gilbert  ....  110 

SOME  LITTLE  BUG.  Roy  Atwell 112 

THE  FABLE  OF  THE  Two  MANDOLIN  PLAYERS  AND  THE  WILLING 

PERFORMER.  George  Ade 114 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TROPICS.  Anonymous 116 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CAM-U-EL.  Arthur  Guiterman  .  .  117 

OLD  DOCTOR  MACK.  Alfred  Percival  Graves  .  .  .  118 

TAM  O'SHANTER  DOG.  J.  G.  Francis 120 

FOR  I  AM  SAD.  Don  Marquis 121 

A  PASTORAL  IN  POSTERS.  Anonymous 121 

POETS  AND  LINNETS.  Tom  Hood,  Jr 122 

THE  LOST  CHORD.  Anonymous 122 

THE  PLAYED-OUT  HUMORIST.  W.  8.  Gilbert 123 

THE  QUEST  OF  THE  PURPLE  Cow.  Hilda  Johnson  ....  124 

IF  THEY  MEANT  ALL  THEY  SAID.  Alice  Duer  Miller  .  .  .  124 

A  TALE  OF  FOREIGN  LANDS.  Anonymous 124 

THE  ARTIST.  By  Guy  Wetmore  Carryl 125 

A  FABLE.  Anonymous 128 

How  VERY  SAD  IT  Is  TO  THINK.  Rhymes  of  the  Boogin  Club  .  129 

THE  COMICAL  GIRL.  M.  Pelham  .......  130 

HINTS  ON  TABLE  ETIQUETTE.  Carolyn  Wells 131 

COUNSEL  TO  THOSE  THAT  EAT.  Anonymous 138 

THE  EDITOR'S  WOOING.  Robert  H.  Newell  ("Orpheus  C.  Kerr")  138 

WORDSWORTHIAN  REMINISCENCE.  Anonymous  .  .  139 

THE  ULTIMATE  JOY.  Anonymous 139 

ETIQUETTE  FOR  ANY  AFRICAN  JUNGLE  HUNTER.  Anonymous  .  .  140 


CONTENTS  xiii 


PAGE 

NIRVANA.    Anonymous 140 

SCHOOL.    J.  K.  Stephen 140 

THE  FOOLKILLER'S  SONG.    Anonymous 141 

As  EXPANDED.     Chicago  Tribune 141 

THEODORE  KOOSEVELT.     Captain  Harry  Graham      ....  142 

AMAZING  FACTS  ABOUT  FOOD.    H.  W 143 

HOME.    Nixon   Waterman 143 

IVY  DE  MILLEFLEURS.    H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell    ....  144 

THE  LAND  OF  LOO-LA-LEE.    Anonymous 145 

THE   RONDEAU.    Anonymous  .        . 145 

THE  MICROBE.    Hilaire  Belloc 145 

MISTER  WILLIAM.     W.  8.  Gilbert 146 

THE  BOBOLINK.    Anonymous .        .  148 

HARD  PIPING.    Anonymous 148 

THE  TALE  OF  A  DOG.    James  H.  Lambert,  Jr 149 

FROM  AN  ALPHABET  OF  SAINTS.    Father  Robert  Hugh  Benson      .  149 

To  MINERVA.     Thomas  Hood 149 

THE  WAR:  A-Z.    John  R.  Edwards 150 

THE  LEGEND  OF  HEINZ  VON  STEIN.    Charles  Godfrey  Leland  .        .  150 

LOFTY  LINES.    Anonymous 151 

OPTIMISM.    H.  M .        .  151 

BALLAD  OF  THE  PRIMITIVE  JEST.    Andrew  Lang      ....  152 

LAY  OF  ANCIENT  ROME.    Thomas  Tbarra 152 

A  SKETCH.    Robert  J.  Burdette 153 

THE  FIDDLER  OF  DOONEY.     William  Butler  Yeats  ....  153 

ADVICE  TO  GRANDSONS.    Anonymous 153 

SONG.    J.  R.  PlanchS 155 

PESSIMISM.    M.  N 155 

WAIL  OF  A  RETURNED  TOURIST.    Anonymous 156 

CONSTANCY.    Anonymous 157 

HOMOEOPATHIC  SOUP.    Anonymous 157 

SOME  HALLUCINATIONS.    Lewis  Carroll 157 

THE  DONG  WITH  THE  LUMINOUS  NOSE.    Edward  Lear    .        .        .  158 

THE  SABINE  FARMER'S  SERENADE.    Father  Prout  ....  160 

FIN  DE  SIECLE.    Anonymous 161 

GOOD  COUNSEL.    Anonymous 162 

IN  WAIN.    Anonymous    ......•••  162 

A  HELEN  OF  TODAY.    Anonymous 162 


xiv  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  PIG.    Robert  Southey 163 

A  BALLADE  OP  BAD  WEATHER.    Anonymous 165 

THE  SMOKER'S  A.  B.  C.     George  B.  Morewood      ....  165 

SELECT  PASSAGES  PROM  A  COMING  POET.    F.  Anstey  ....  165 

THE  KILKENNY  CATS.    Anonymous 166 

THE  WHITE  QUEEN'S  RIDDLE.    Lewis  Carroll 166 

AMPLIFIED  SPELLING.    Anonymous 167 

WHAT  You  CAN  AND  WHAT  You  CAN'T.    Anonymous  .        .        .  167 

FANCY  VERSES.    Anonymous 168 

THE  THRIFTY  MAN.    Anonymous 168 

LITERARY  ADVICE  TO  LOVERS.    Anonymous      .....  169 

A  DARWINIAN  BALLAD.    Anonymous 169 

NORTH,  EAST,  SOUTH  AND  WEST.    H.  A.  M 170 

IN  MEMORIAM  TECHNICAM.    Thomas  Hood,  Jr 170 

DREAM   POEM.    Anonymous 171 

ANCESTRAL  LORE.    Anonymous        .        .        .  •     .        .        .        .  171 

THE  WEDDING.     Thomas  Hood,  Jr 172 

OUR  HYMN.     Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 172 

INSPECT  Us.    Edith  Daniell 172 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  EMEU.    Bret  Harte 173 

"KULTURIZED"  POETRY.    Kenneth  F.  H.  Underwood    .        .        .  174 

THE  HOMELY  PATHETIC.    Bret  Harte 175 

THE  AWFUL  BUGABOO.    Eugene  Field 175 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  JELLYFISH.    Jarvis  Keiley 176 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CARPET.    Robert  J.  Burdette      .        .        .  176 

To  BE  OR  NOT  TO  BE.    Anonymous 178 

ALL  OR  NOTHING.    Bayard  Taylor 178 

A  PORTRAIT.     Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 178 

(ALLITERATIVE  ABSURDITIES.    Anonymous 179 

\WHY  NOT?    Anonymous  .                 . 179 

THE  CROCODILE.    Hilaire  Belloc 179 

THE  MICROBE'S  SERENADE.    George  Ade 180 

A  SETTIN'  HEN.    Holmes  F.  Day 180 

STORY  OF  ESAU  WOOD.    W.  E.  Southwick 180 

THE  CUMMERBUND.    Edward  Lear 181 

CUPID'S  DARTS.    Anonymous 182 

SOME  PSALM.    Anonymous 182 

STATELY  VERSE.    Anonymous 182 


CONTENTS  xv 


PAGE 

THUDS  FROM  THE  PADDED  CELL.    Maurice  Smiley  ....  183 

WORSE  AND  MORE  OP  IT.    Anonymous 183 

RURAL  BLISS.    Anthony  C.  Deane 184 

A  CROSS  LADY.    Florence  Wilkinson 185 

THE  WHICHNESS  OF  WHAT.    J.  A.  A 185 

A  LITTLE  SWIRL  OF  VERS  LIBRE.    Thomas  R.  Ybarra      .        .        .  186 

Wus,  EVER  Wus.    H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell 186 

THE  HAPPY  MAN.     Gilles  Menage 186 

A  SYLVAN  SCENE.    Bayard  Taylor 188 

AIN'T  IT  AWFUL,  MABEL?    John  Edward  Hazzard  .        .        .        .  189 

A  HOUSE  PET.    Anonymous    *  .     , 189 

MY  ANGELINE.    Harry  B.  Smith 190 

GHAT.    Anonymous          •        .        » 190 

A  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION.    Thomas  Hood  the  Younger      .        .  191 

THE  SICK  KNIGHT.    F.  Anstey 193 

A  PLEA  FOR  TRIGAMY.    Owen  Seaman 193 

THE  RIVAL  MILLENNIUM.    A.  C.  Fitch 194 

THE  EDUCATED  LOVE  BIRD.    Peter  Newell 194 

POST-IMPRESSIONIST  POEM.    Julian  Street      .        .        .        .  .      .  194 

THE  ROMAUNT  OF  HUMPTY  DUMPTY.    Henry  S.  Leigh  .        .        .  196 

To  MARY.    Phele  Cory    .        » 196 

A  SYMPOSIUM  OF  POETS.    Carolyn  Wells - 197 

THE  CONJUROR.    Anonymous  . 202 

THE  SEAMSTRESS.    Anonymous 203 

THE  PRACTICAL  JOKER.    W.  S.  Gilbert 204 

YE  TOWNE  GOSSIP.    Kenneth  C.  Beaton 205 

THE  TRANSLATED  WAY.    Franklin  P.  Adams 206 

THE  NAUGHTY  DARKEY  BOY.    Anonymous 206 

THE  BOGUS  DIAMOND.    Charles  Battell  Loomis      .        .        .        .  207 

THE  LOBSTER  AND  THE  MAID.    F.  E.  Weatherly      ....  207 

SPRING.    Alfred  E.  Dickey      . 208 

THE  ANTISEPTIC  PLEDGE.    Anonymous 208 

THE  SCARE  CROW.    Ruth  McEnery  Stuart      .        .        .                .  208 

THE  GREAT  BLACK  CROW.    Philip  James  Bailey    ....  209 

YOUNG  LOCHINVAR.    Anonymous    .   ' 209 

NATURE  STUDIES.    Anonymous 211 

WHY  DOTH  A  PUSSYCAT?    Burges  Johnson    .        .        .        .        .  211 

IF  WE  DIDN'T  HAVE  TO  EAT.    Nixon  Watermawn  .        .  212 


xvi  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

SCIENTIFIC  PROOF?    J.  W.  Foley 212 

ODE  TO  WORK  IN  SPRINGTIME.    Thomas  R.  Tbarra  ....    213 

HUMOR.    Anonymous 213 

THE  HERRING.    Sir  Walter  Scott 213 

As  TO  THE  WEATHER.    Anonymous 213 

NATURE  FAKIRS'  FANCIES.    Anonymous 214 

AFTER  OLIVER.    Anonymous 214 

NAN'S  ADVENTURES  UP  TO  DATE.    Anonymous       ....    215 

VERDANCY.    Anonymous 216 

A  EULE.     Anonymous  « . 216 

THE  MICROBES.    Anonymous 216 

THE  PRIMROSE  PATH.    H.  M .  .        «, 216 

PING  WING.    Anonymous .    216 

INDIFFERENCE.    Anonymous  « 216 

MANILA.    Eugene  T.  Ware      .  216 

SAID  OPIE  READ  TO  E.  P.  ROE.    Julian  Street  and  James  Mont- 
gomery Flagg 

THE  BELLS.    Anonymous 

A  QUATRAIN.    F.  P.  A.  .        . 

WHY?    E.  P.  Stephens 

A  SOLILOQUY.    F.  C.  Burnand 

CYNJCUS  TO  W.  SHAKESPEARE.    J.  K.  Stephen 

A  TRIOLET.    John  Twig 

SENEX  TO  MATT.  PRIOR.    J.  K.  Stephen 

ON  THE  LATIN  GERUNDS.    Theodore  Hook 

A  PRACTICAL  ANSWER.    Shirley  Brooks 

ON  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOR.    Frederick  Locker 

ON  A  JURY.    John  Godfrey  Saxe 

MORE  WALKS.    Anonymous     .  

SOME  LADIES.    Frederick  Locker 

THE  CAREFUL  PENMAN.    Anonymous 

LOGICAL  ENGLISH.    Anonymous 

LOGIC.    Anonymous 

To  QELETT  BUR«ESS.    P.P.  A 

MADAME  SANS  Souci.    Anonymous 

THE  HUB.    Anonymous 

ANOTHER  CITY.    Anonymous 

ADVENTURES  OF  LITTLE  KATY.    Anonymous    .... 


CONTENTS  xvii 


PAGE 

THE  MODERN  MAID.    Anonymous 219 

BALLADS  OP  BAD  BABIES.     Harry  P.  Taber 220 

TRUTHLESS  RHYMES  FOR  HEARTHLESS  HOMES.    Anonymous  .        .  220 

UNPERTURBED  MAMMA.    Anonymous 221 

LIMERICKS 225 

MISHAPS  OF  GENTLE  JANE.    Carolyn  Wetts 233 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  PRINCESS  PERILLA Frontispiece 

PAGE 

WE  WERE  ON  THE  STARBOARD  TACK 44 

A  MERE  MAN 64 

ANGLING  FOR  MERMAIDS 80 

iHE   JuARK            ...........  JO 

WILD  FLOWERS 106 

THE  LITTLE  RABBIT'S  MISTAKE 142 

WICKED  WASTE                 178 

THE  EDUCATED  LOVE  BIRD 194 

So  HER  INTO  PRISON  HE  THREW 198 

THE  SCARE  CROW 208 

THERE  WAS  AN  OLD  MAN  WHO  SAID  "GEE!".  216 


xix 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


SUCH   NONSENSE! 


THE  TWO  OLD  BACHELORS 

Two  old  Bachelors  were  living  in  one  house; 

One  caught  a  Muffin,  the  other  caught  a  Mouse. 

Said  he  who  caught  the  Muffin  to  him  who  caught  the  Mouse, 

"This  happens  just  in  time,  for  we've  nothing  in  the  house, 

Save  a  tiny  slice  of  lemon  and  a  teaspoonful  of  honey,   / 

And  what  to  do  for  dinner, — since  we  haven't  any  money? 

And  what  can  we  expect  if  we  haven't  any  dinner 

But  to  lose  our  teeth  and  eyelashes  and  keep  on  growing  thinner?" 

Said  he  who  caught  the  Mouse  to  him  who  caught  the  Muffin, 
"We  might  cook  this  little  Mouse  if  we  only  had  some  Stuffin' ! 
If  we  had  but  Sage  and  Onions  we  could  do  extremely  well, 
But  how  to  get  that  Stuffin'  it  is  difficult  to  tell  I" 

And  then  those  two  old  Bachelors  ran  quickly  to  the  town 
And  asked  for  Sage  and  Onions  as  they  wandered  up  and  down; 
They  borrowed  two  large  Onions,  but  no  Sage  was  to  be  found 
In  the  Shops  or  in  the  Market  or  in  all  the  Gardens  round. 

But  some  one  said,  "A  hill  there  is,  a  little  to  the  north, 
And  to  its  purpledicular  top  a  narrow  way  leads  forth; 
And  there  among  the  rugged  rocks  abides  an  ancient  Sage, — 
An  earnest  Man,  who  reads  all  day  a  most  perplexing  page. 
Climb  up  and  seize  him  by  the  toes, — all  studious  as  he  sits, — 
And  pull  him  down,  and  chop  him  into  endless  little  bits! 
Then  mix  him  with  your  Onion  (cut  up  likewise  into  scraps), 
And  your  Stuffin'  will  be  ready,  and  very  good — perhaps." 

And  then  those  two  old  Bachelors,  without  loss  of  time, 
The  nearly  purpledicular  crags  at  once  began  to  climb; 
And  at  the  top  among  the  rocks,  all  seated  in  a  nook, 
They  saw  that  Sage  a-reading  of  a  most  enormous  book. 

"You  earnest  Sage !"  aloud  they  cried,  "your  book  you've  read  enough  in ! 
We  wish  to  chop  you  into  bits  and  mix  you  into  Stuffin' !" 

17 


18  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


But  that  old  Sage  looked  calmly  up,  and  with  his  awful  book 

At  those  two  Bachelors'  bald  heads  a  certain  aim  he  took; 

And  over  crag  and  precipice  they  rolled  promiscuous  down, — 

At  once  they  rolled,  and  never  stopped  in  lane  or  field  or  town; 

And  when  they  reached  their  house,  they  found  (besides  their  want  of 

Stuffin') 
The  Mouse  had  fled — and  previously  had  eaten  up  the  Muffin. 

They  left  their  home  in  silence  by  the  once  convivial  door; 
And  from  that  hour  those  Bachelors  were  never  heard  of  more. 

EDWARD  LEAR. 
Nobody  can  beat  Mr.  Lear  at  his  own  game. 


WONDERS  OF  NATURE 

Ah!  who  has  seen  the  mailed  lobster  rise, 

Clap  her  broad  wings,  and,  soaring,  claim  the  skies? 

When  did  the  owl,  descending  from  her  bower, 

Crop,  'midst  the  fleecy  flocks,  the  tender  flower; 

Or  the  young  heifer  plunge,  with  pliant  limb, 

In  the  salt  wave,  and,  fish-like,  try  to  swim? 

The  same  with  plants,  potatoes  'tatoes  breed, 

The  costly  cabbage  springs  from  cabbage-seed; 

Lettuce  to  lettuce,  leeks  to  leeks  succeed; 

Nor  e'er  did  cooling  cucumbers  presume 

To  flower  like  myrtle,  or  like  violets  bloom. 

THE  ANTI-JACOBIN. 

Neither  can  the  leopard  change  his  spots. 


Portrait  of  and  by  W.  M.  Thackeray 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


19 


This  is  THE  MUSE  OF  NONSENSE; 

See! 
Preposterously  Strained  is  She; 


Her  Figures  have  nor  Rule  nor  Joint 
And  so  it's  Hard  to  See  the  Point! 
GELETT  BUBGESS. 


20 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


BUNCHES  OF  GEAPES 

"Bunches  of  grapes,"  says  Timothy, 
"Pomegranates  pink,"  says  Elaine ; 

"A  junket  of  cream  and  a  cranberry 

tart 
"For  me,"  says  Jane. 

"Love-in-a-mist,"  says  Timothy, 
"Primroses  pale,"  says  Elaine; 

"A  nosegay  of  pinks  and  mignonette 
For  me,"  says  Jane. 

"Chariots  of  gold,"  says  Timothy, 
"Silvery  wings,"  says  Elaine; 

"A  bumpety  ride  in  a  waggon  of  hay 
For  me,"  says  Jane. 

WALTER  RAMAL. 
Isn't  Jane  a  duck? 


TO  MY  NEW  PET 

I  love  my  ichneumon, 
Its  tongue  is  so  queer, 

Its  ways  are  so  human, 
It  has  such  a  leer. 

'Tis  fond  of  the  emmet 

For  dinner  and  tea 
But  ere  you  condemn  it, 

Pray  listen  to  me. 

And  know  that  though  ants  it 
Delights  in  so  much ; 

Its  fiercest  foe  grants  it 
An  uncle  won't  touch. 

Tasty  little  joke,  that,  about  ant  and 
uncle. 


Signature  of  a  Well-known  Artist 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


— "-x 


There  are  men  in  the  village  of  Erith 
Whom  nobody  seeth  or  heareth; 

And  there  looms  on  the  marge 

Of  the  river  a  barge 
Which  nobody  roweth  or  steereth. 

COSMO  MONKHOUSK. 

Enough  to  make  anybody  believe  in  spooks. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


A  TRAGIC  STORY 

There  lived  a  sage  in  days  of  yore, 
And  he  a  handsome  pigtail  wore; 
But    wondered    much    and    sorrowed 

more, 
Because  it  hung  behind  him. 


He  mused  upon  this  curious  case, 
And  swore  he'd  change  the  pigtail's 

place, 

And  have  it  hanging  at  his  face, 
Not  dangling  there  behind  him. 


Says  he,  "The  mystery  I've  found, — 
I'll  turn  me  round," — he  turned  him 

round; 
But  still  it  hung  behind  him. 


Then  round  and  round,  and  out  and  in, 
All  day  the  puzzled  sage  did  spin; 
In  vain — it  mattered  not  a  pin, — 
The  pigtail  hung  behind  him. 


And  right  and  left,  and  round  about, 
And  up  and  down,  and  in  and  out, 
He  turned ;  but  still  the  pigtail  stout 
Hung  steadily  behind  him. 


And  though  his  efforts  never  slack, 
And  though  he  twist  and  twirl  and 

tack, 

Alas !  still  faithful  to  his  back, 
The  pigtail  hangs  behind  him. 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY. 


Seems  'sif  'most  anybody  could  write 
such  good  nonsense  as  that,  but  alas, 
how  few  of  us  could  sign  such  a  good 
name. 


THE  FASTIDIOUS  SERPENT 

There  was  a  snake  that  dwelt  in  Skye, 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh; 
He  lived  upon  nothing  but  gooseberry 
pie 

For  breakfast,  dinner  and  tea,  oh. 

Now  gooseberry  pie — as  is  very  well 
known, — 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh, 
Is  not  to  be  found  under  every  stone, 

Nor  yet  upon  every  tree,  oh. 

And  being  so  ill  to  please  with  bis 

meat, 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh; 
The  snake  had  sometimes  nothing 

eat, 
And  an  angry  snake  was  he,  oh. 

Then  he'd  flick  his  tongue  and  his  head 

he'd  shake, 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh, 
Crying,  "Gooseberry  pie!     For  good- 
ness' sake, 
Some  gooseberry  pie  for  me,  oh." 

And  if  gooseberry  pie  was  not  to  be 

had, 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh, 
He'd  twine  and  twist  like  an  eel  gone 

mad, 
Or  a  worm  just  stung  by  a  bee,  oh. 

But  though  he  might  shout  and  wriggle 
about, 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh, 
The  snake  had  often  to  go  without 

His  breakfast,  dinner  and  tea,  oh. 

HENRY  JOHNSTONE. 
Lot  of  human  nature  in  snakes. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


23 


Reproduction  of  a  Letter  by  Sir  Walter  Burne-Jones 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


ADAM 
"When  Eve  appeared  upon  the  scene." 

In  History  he  holds  a  place 
Unique,  unparalleled,  sublime; 

"The  First  of  all  the  Human  Kace!" 
Yes,  that  was  Adam,  all  the  time. 

It  didn't  matter  if  he  burst, 

He  simply  had  to  get  there  first. 

A  simple  Child  of  Nature  he, 

Whose  life  was  primitive  and  rude; 

His  wants  were  few,  his  manners  free, 
All  kinds  of  clothing  he  eschewed, — 

He  might  be  seen  in  any  weather, 

In  what  is  called  "the  Altogether!" 

The  luxuries  that  we  enjoy 

He  never  had,  so  never  missed; 

Appliances  that  we  employ 

For  saving  work  did  not  exist; 

He  would  have  found  them  useless  too, 

Not  having  any  work  to  do. 

He  never  wrote  a  business  note; 

He  had  no  creditors  to  pay; 
He  was  not  pestered  for  his  vote, 

Not  having  one  to  give  away; 
And,  living  utterly  alone, 
He  did  not  need  a  telephone. 

The  joys  of  indolence  he  knew, 
In  his  remote  and  peaceful  clime, 

He  did  just  what  he  wanted  to, 
Nor  ever  said  he  "hadn't  time  I" 

(And  this  was  natural  becos 

He  had  whatever  time  there  was.) 

His  pulse  was  strong,  his  health  was 
good, 

He  had  no  fads  of  meat  or  drink, 
Of  tonic  waters,  Breakfast  Food, 

Or  Pills  for  Persons  who  are  Pink; 
No  cloud  of  indigestion  lay 
Across  the  sunshine  of  his  day. 


And,  when  he  went  to  bed  each  night, 
He  made  his  couch  upon  the  soil; 

The  glow-worms  gave  him  all  his  light, 
(He  hadn't  heard  of  Standard 
Oil);- 

At  dawn  he  woke, — then  slept  again, 

lie  never  had  to  catch  a  train ! 

A  happy,  solitary  life ! 

But  soon  he  found  it  dull,  I  ween, 
So  thought  that  he  would  like  a  wife, — 

When  Eve  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

*  *        * 

And  we  will  draw  a  kindly  veil 
Over  the  sequel  to  this  tale. 

MORAL 

Ye  Bachelors,  contented  be 

With  what  the  future  holds  for  you ; 
Pity  the  married  man,  for  he 

Has  nothing  to  look  forward  to, — 
To  hunger  for  with  bated  breath ! — 

*  *        * 

(Nothing,  that  is  to  say,  but  Death!) 
CAPTAIN  HARRY  GRAHAM. 

As  pictured  above,  it  doubtless  was 
the  greatest  dramatic  situation  of  all 
time! 

BREAD  AND  MILK 

Bread  and  milk  are  good  to  eat, 

Potatoes  are  not  bad, — 
But  bread  and  milk's  the  food  for  me, 

The  food  for  any  lad. 

The  old  red  cow,  she  gives  the  milk, 
And  mother  gives  the  bread; 

I  put  the  bread  into  the  milk, 
Then  put  both  in  my  head. 

This  gem  of  thought  is  copied  ver- 
batim from  an  old  "First  Reader." 
How  small  the  world  is,  after  all. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


A  POEM  OP  UPLIFT 

I  soar  above  all  earthly  scenes, 

I  soar!    I  soar! 
My  soul  bathes  in  a  sea  of  dreams, 

I  soar!    I  soar! 

Above  the  toiling,  moiling  world, 
To  zenith  spaces,  star-empearled, 
My  radiant  soul  is  swept  and  swirled, 

I  soar!    I  soar! 

ANON. 


Precious! 


A  Letter  Heading  by  Rudyard  Kipling 
GOOD  AND  BAD 

If  I  was  as  bad  as  they  say  I  am, 
And  you  were  as  good  as  you  look, 

I  wonder  which   one  would  feel  the 

worse 
If  each  for  the  other  was  took? 

GEORGE  BARB  BAKER. 

This  remark  was  made  by  a  bad,  bold 
convict  to  his  vain,  virtuous,  visiting 
chaplain,  four  personal  answer  to  the 
question  is  an  indication  of  your  char- 
acter. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


MAVRONE 
One  of  Those  Sad  Irish  Poems,  With  Notes 

From  Arranmore  -the  weary  miles  I've  comej 

An'  all  the  way  I've  heard 
A    Shrawn x    that's    kep'    me    silent,  speechless,  dumb, 

Not  sayin'  any  word. 
An'  was  it  then  the  Shrawn  of  Eire,2  you'll  say, 

For   him   that   died   the    death    on  Carrisboolf 
It  was  not  that ;  nor  was  it,  by  the  way, 

The  Sons  of  Garnim3  blitherin'  their  drool; 
Nor  was  it  any  Crowdie  of  the  Shee,* 

Or  Itt,  or  Himm,  nor  wail  of  Barryhoo  6 
For  Barry  which  that  stilled  the  tongue  of  me. 

'Twas  but  my  own  heart  cryin'  out  for  you 

Magraw !  6  Bulleen,  shinnanigan,  Boru, 

Aroon,  Machree,  Aboo!T 


My  favourite  of  the  whole  bunch. 

*A  Shrawn  is  a  pure  Gaelic  noise, 
something  like  a  groan,  more  like  a 
shriek,  and  most  like  a  sigh  of  longing. 

*  Eire  was  daughter  of  Carne,  King  of 
Connaught.  Her  lover,  Murdh  of  the 
Open  Hand,  was  captured  by  Greatcoat 
Mackintosh,  King  of  Ulster,  on  the  plain 
of  Carrisbool,  and  made  into  soup.  Eire's 
grief  on  this  sad  occasion  has  become 
proverbial. 

•Garnim  was  second  cousin  to  Manan- 
nan  MacLir.  His  sons  were  always  sad 
about  something.  There  were  twenty-two 
of  them,  and  they  were  all  unfortunate  in 
love  at  the  same  time,  just  like  a  chorus 
at  the  opera.  "Blitherin'  their  drool" 
is  about  the  same  as  "dreeing  their 
weird." 

«The  Shee  (or  "Sidhe,"  as  I  should 
properly  spell  it  if  you  were  not  so  igno- 
rant) were,  as  everybody  knows,  the 
regular,  stand-pat,  organisation  fairies  of 
Erin.  The  Crowdie  was  their  annual  con- 
vention, at  which  they  made  melancholy 


ARTHUR  GUITERMAN. 


sounds.  The  Itt  and  Himm  were  the 
irregular,  or  insurgent,  fairies.  They 
never  got  any  offices  or  patronage.  See 
MacAlester,  Polity  of  the  Sidhe  of  West 
Meath,  page  985. 

5  The  Barryhoo  is  an  ancient  Celtic  bird 
about  the  size  of  a  Mavis,  with  lavender 
eyes  and  a  black-crape  tail.  It  continu- 
ally mourns  its  mate  (Barry which,  fem- 
inine form),  which  has  an  hereditary 
predisposition  to  an  early  and  tragic  de- 
mise and  invariably  dies  first. 

*  Magraw,  a  Gaelic  term  of  endearment, 
often  heard  on  the  baseball  fields  of 
Donnybrook. 

7  These  last  six  words  are  all  that  tra- 
dition has  preserved  of  the  original  in- 
cantation by  means  of  which  Irish  rats 
were  rhymed  to  death.  Thereby  hangs  a 
good  Celtic  tale,  which  I  should  be  glad 
to  tell  you  in  this  note ;  but  the  publishers 
say  that  being  prosed  to  death  is  as  bad 
as  being  rhymed  to  death,  and  that  the 
readers  won't  stand  for  any  more. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Portrait  of  and  by  Alfred  De  Musset 


£8 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


PERCHANCE 

Perchance  it  was  her  eyes  of  blue, 

Her  cheek  that  might  the  rose  have 

shamed ; 
Her  figure,  in  proportion  true 

To  all  the  rules  by  artists  framed; 
Perhaps  it  was  her  mental  worth 

That  made  her  lover  love  her  so, 
Perhaps  her  name  or  wealth  or  birth — 

I  cannot  tell — I  do  not  know. 

He  may  have  had  a  rival,  who 

Did  fiercely  gage  him  to  a  duel, 
And,  being  the  luckier  of  the  two, 
Defeated  him  with  triumph  cruel. 
Then  she  may  have  proved  false,  and 

turned 

To  welcome  to  her  arms  his  foe; 
Left      him      despairing,      conquered, 

spurned, — 
I  cannot  tell — I  do  not  know. 

WALTER  PARKE. 

He  doesn't  seem  to  know  much  of 
anything! 


THE  THINGUMBOB 
A  Pastel 

The  Thingumbob  sat  at  eventide, 
On  the  shore  of  a  shoreless  sea, 

Expecting  an  unexpected  attack 
From  something  it  could  not  foresee. 

A  still  calm  rests  on  the  angry  waves, 
The  low  wind  whistles  a  mournful 

tune, 
And  the  Thingumbob  sighs  to  himself, 

"Alas, 
I've  had  no  supper  now  since  noon." 


Author,  please  speak  up. 
vertently  lost  his  name. 


I  inad- 


THE  ENDLESS  SONG 

Oh,  I  used  to  sing  a  song, 
An'  dey  said  it  was  too  long, 
So  I  cut  it  off  de  en* 
To  accommodate  a  frien' 

Nex'  do',  nex'  do' — 
To  accommodate  a  frien'  nex'  do'. 

But  it  made  de  matter  wuss 
Dan  it  had  been  at  de  fus, 
'Ca'ze  de  en'  was  gone,  an'  den 
Co'se  it  didn't  have  no  en' 

Any  mo',  any  mo' — 
Oh,  it  didn't  have  no  en'  any  mo'! 

So,   to  save  my  frien'  from  sinnin', 
I  cut  off  de  song's  beginnin'j 
Still  he  cusses  right  along 
Whilst  I  sings  about  my  song 

Jes  so,  jes  so — 
Whilst  I  sings  about  my  song  jes  so. 

How  to  please  'im  is  my  riddle, 
So  I'll  fall  back  on  my  fiddle; 
For  I'd  stan'  myself  on  en* 
To  accommodate  a  frien' 

Nex'  do',  nex'  do' — 
To  accommodate  a  frien'  nex'  do'. 
RUTH  MCENERY  STUART. 

Alas,  friends  'are  all  alike. 

ON  KNOWING  WHEN  TO  STOP 

The  woodchuck  told  it  all  about. 

"I'm  going  to  build  a  dwelling 
Six  stories  high,  up  to  the  sky!" 

He  never  tired  of  telling. 

He  dug  the  cellar  smooth  and  well 
But  made  no  more  advances; 

That  lovely  hole  so  pleased  his  soul 
And  satisfied  his  fancies. 

L.  J.  BRIDGMAN. 

Oh,  oft  much  better  off  we'd  be 

If  like  the  woodchuck  more  were  we. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


The  Interrupted  Artist 


EDWABD  LEAK. 


THE  DYSPEPTIC  CANNIBAL 

A  cannibal  was  seated  on  a  green  Pacific  isle, 
With  the  temperature  at  ninety-nine  degrees; 

His  dress  was  rather  scanty,  in  the  latest  savage  style, 
Just  a  pair  of  Boston  garters  round  his  knees. 

But  he  didn't  seem  quite  happy,  for  now  and  then  a  groan 
Escaped — which  tore  his  savage  breast  in  two; 

And  he  chanted  in  a  melancholy,  meditative  tone 
The  ditty  that  I  now  repeat  to  you: 

"I've  eaten  hostile  tribesmen  without  a  single  question; 

I've  feasted  on  the  yellow,  black  and  brown; 
But  I  never  have  encountered  such  a  fit  of  indigestion 

As  accompanied  the  minister  from  town. 

"I  have  tried  the  Uambago,  boiled  and  roasted,  baked  and  fried ; 

I  have  chewed  the  woolly  Oolah,  stuffed  with  yam; 
But  for  all  the  after  symptoms  from  the  dishes  we  have  tried 
I  wouldn't  give  a  Bamballoadam !" 

ALFRED  E.  DICKEY. 
All  the  world  loves  a  cannibal. 


30 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


MODERN  NATURE  LORE 

To  write  of  the  wonders  of  Nature 

Is  now  the  acceptable  dodge: 
To  trace  the  Nennook's  nomenclature, 

And  learn  where  the  Lorises  lodge. 
To  set  forth  the  habits  of  rabbits, 

To  sum  up  the  porcupine's  spines, 
To  mention  the  uses  of  mooses  and 
gooses, 

And  tell  how  the  ocelot  dine^. 

To  teach  us  to  know  the  gorilla, 

And  how  to  tell  llamas  from  lambs; 
About  what  to  chin  the  chinchilla, 

And  how  best  to  entertain  clams. 
To  post  us  on  pigeons  and  widgeons, 

And  tell  how  to  make  beavers  beave, 
Or  how  to  inveigle  an  eagle  or  beagle 

His  highest  and  best  to  achieve. 

To  state  all  the  traits  of  the  wombat; 

To  show  why  the  koulan  and  vole 
Are  always  engaged  in  a  combat — 

These  stories  I  swallow  down  whole. 
But  still  with  two  questions  I  wrangle, 

And  help  will  not  come  at  my  call: 
Why  an  angleworm  hasn't  an  angle — • 

And  a  mongoose  is  no  goose  at  all! 

When  Adam  named  the  beasts  some 
woman  must  have  sidled  up  to  him  and 
offered  to  help. 


THE  OLD  MAN 

It  was  a  cold  and  wintry  night, 
A  man  stood  in  the  street; 

His  aged  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
His  boots  were  full  of  feet. 

This  verse  gets  there  with  both  feet, 
-poetic  and  human. 


WING  TEE  WEE 

Oh,  Wing  Tee  Wee 
Was  a  sweet  Chinee, 
And  she  lived  in  the  town  of  Tac. 
Her  eyes  were  blue, 
And  her  curling  queue 
Hung  dangling  down  her  back ; 
And  she  fell  in  love  with  gay  Win  Sil 
When  he  wrote  his  name  on  a  laundry 
bill. 

And,  oh,  Tim  Told 
Was  a  pirate  bold, 
And  he  sailed  in  a  Chinese  junk; 
And  he  loved,  ah  me! 
Sweet  Wing  Tee  Wee, 
But  his  valiant  heart  had  sunk; 
So  he  drowned  his  blues  in  fickle  fizz, 
And  vowed  the  maid  would  yet  be  his. 

So  bold  Tim  Told 
Showed  all  his  gold 
To  the  maid  in  the  town  of  Tac ; 
And  sweet  Wing  Wee 
Eloped  to  sea, 
And  nevermore  came  back; 
For  in  far  Chinee  the  maids  are  fair, 
And  the  maids  are  false, — as  every- 
where. 

J.  P.  DENISON. 

And  yet  one  can't  help  feeling  that 
Wing  Tee  Wee  was  a  dear  and  a  sweet. 


Portrait  of  and  by  a  Well-known 
Publisher 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


31 


Co-icl    ex  NK^op    lo   ke,**    cKilcL,   /"Ay  d.«-a.T» 
QxjtcK     tore.C.i)ollcxle.    hcx^bc.    i^    XJtnC.ou.lK. 
*\A/He-n.    you.  como  clow/ri  a.  <lctit» 
m.ore'  Co-xjilion    a.«dl    ca/re-, 
re^lrctin,  tkt^    -wild, 
of 


MATERNAL  COUNSEL 


ERRING  IN  COMPANY 

"If  I  have  erred,  I  err  in  company  with 
Abraham  Lincoln." — Theodore  Roosevelt. 

If  e'er  my  rhyming  be  at  fault, 
If  e'er  I  chance  to  scribble  dope, 

If  that  my  metre  ever  halt, 
I  err  in  company  with  Pope. 

An  that  my  grammar  go  awry, 
An  that  my  English  be  askew, 

Sooth,  I  can  prove  an  alibi — 
The  Bard  of  Avon  did  it  too. 

If  often  toward  the  bottled  grape 
My  errant  fancy  fondly  turns, 

Remember,  leering  jackanape, 
I  err  in  company  with  Burns. 

If  now  and  then  I  sigh  "Mine  own!" 
Unto  another's  wedded  wife, 


Remember,  I  am  not  alone — 

Hast  ever  read  Lord  Byron's  Life? 

If  frequently  I  fret  and  fume, 
And  absolutely  will  not  smile, 

I  err  in  company  with  Hume, 
Old  Socrates  and  T.  Carlyle. 

If  e'er  I  fail  in  etiquette, 

And  foozle  on  The  Proper  Stuff 

Regarding  manners,  don't  forget 
A.  Tennyson's  were  pretty  tough. 

Eke  if  I  err  upon  the  side 
Of  talking  overmuch  of  Me, 

I  err,  it  cannot  be  denied, 
In  most  illustrious  company. 

FRANKLIN  P.  ADAMS. 

If  cynic  comment  1  essay, 

I  sin,  perhaps,  with  F.  P.  A. 


32  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


KINDLY  ADVICE 

Be  kind  to  the  panther !  for  when  thou  wert  young, 

In  thy  country  far  over  the  sea, 
'Twas  a  panther  ate  up  thy  papa  and  mama, 

And  had  several  mouthf uls  of  thee ! 

Be  kind  to  the  badger!  for  who  shall  decide 

The  depth  of  his  badgery  soul? 
And  think  of  the  tapir,  when  flashes  the  lamp 

O'er  the  fast  and  the  free  flowing  bowl. 

Be  kind  to  the  camel!  nor  let  word  of  thine 

Ever  put  up  his  bactrian  back; 
And  cherish  the  she-kangaroo  with  her  bag, 

Nor  venture  to  give  her  the  sack. 

Be  kind  to  the  ostrich !  for  how  canst  thou  hope 

To  have  such  a  stomach  as  it? 
And  when  the  proud  day  of  your  "bridal"  shall  come, 

Do  give  the  poor  birdie  a  "bit." 

Be  kind  to  the  walrus !  nor  ever  forget 

To  have  it  on  Tuesday  to  tea; 
But  butter  the  crumpets  on  only  one  side, 

Save  such  as  are  eaten  by  thee. 

Be  kind  to  the  bison !  and  let  the  jackal 

In  the  light  of  thy  love  have  a  share; 
And  coax  the  ichneumon  to  grow  a  new  tail, 

And  have  lots  of  larks  in  its  lair! 

Be  kind  to  the  bustard,  that  genial  bird, 

And  humour  its  wishes  and  ways; 
And  when  the  poor  elephant  suffers  from  bile, 

Then  tenderly  lace  up  his  stays ! 

0.  P.  Q.  SMUT. 

Included  because  the  author's  name  is  so  funny. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


33 


SAINTE  MARGEBIE 

Slim  feet  than  lilies  tenderer, — 

Margerie! 

That  scarce  upbore  the  body  of  her, 
Naked  upon  the  stones  they  Aveve; — 

C'est  fa  Suinte  Margerie! 

White  as  a  shroud  the  silken  gown, — 

Margerie! 
That  flowed   from   shoulder  to   ankle 

down, 

With    clear    blue    shadows    along    it 
thrown ; 

C'est  fa  Sainte  Margerie! 

On  back  and  bosom  withouten  braid, — 

Margerie! 

In  crisped  glory  of  darkling  red, 
Round  creamy  temples  her  hair  was 
shed ; — 

C'est  $a  Sainte  Margerie! 

Eyes,   like   a   dim   sea,   viewed   from 
far, — 

Margerie! 

Lips  that  no  earthly  love  shall  mar, 
More  sweet  than  lips  of  mortals  are ; — 

C'est  QO  Sainte  Margerie! 

The  chamber  walls   are   cracked  and 
bare ; — 

Margerie! 

Without  the  gossips  stood  astare 
At  men  her  bed  away  that  bare; — 

C'est  fa  Sainte  Margerie! 

Five  pennies  lay  her  hand  within, — 

Margerie! 

So  she  her  fair  soul's  weal  might  win, 
Little  she  reck'd  of  dule  or  teen ; — 

C'est  fa  Sainte  Margerie! 

Dank  straw  from  dunghill  gathered, — 

Margerie! 

Where  fragrant  swine  have  made  their 
bed, 


Thereon  her  body  shall  be  laid ; — 

C'est  fa  Sainte  Margerie! 

Three  pennies  to  the  poor  in  dole, — 

Margerie! 

One  to  the  clerk  her  knell  shall  toll, 
And  one  to  masses  for  her  soul; — 

C'est  fa  Sainte  Margeriel 

This  has  obliged  me  to  revise  entirely 
my  lifelong  opinion  of  Margery  Daw. 

ANCHOR- 
•LINE- 


Portrait of  and  by  a  Well-known 
New  York  Editor 


34  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


JABBERWOCKY 

Rendered  into  Latin  Elegiacs. 

Hora  aderat  briligi.    Nunc  et  Slythseia  Tova 

Plurima  gyrabant  gymbolitare  vabo; 
Et  Borogovorum  mimzebant  undique  formae, 

Momiferique  omnes  exgrabuere  Rathi. 

"Cave,  Gaberbocchum  moneo  tibi,  nate  cavendum 
(Unguibus  ille  rapit.     Dentibus  ille  necat). 

Et  fuge  Jubbubbum,  quo  non  infestior  ales, 
Et  Bandersnatcham,  quae  fremit  usque,  cave." 

Ille  autem  gladium  vorpalem  cepit,  et  hostem 

Manxonium  longa  sedulitate  petit; 
Turn  sub  tumtummi  requiescens  arboris  umbra 

Stabat  tranquillus,  multa  animo  meditans. 

Dum  requiescebat  meditans  uffishia,  monstrum 
Praesens  ecce!  oculis  cui  fera  flamma  micat, 

Ipse  Gaberbocchus  dumeta  per  horrida  sifflans 
Ibat,  et  horrendum  burbuliabat  iens! 

Ter,  quater,  atque  iterum  cito  vorpalissimus  ensis 

Snicsnaccans  penitus  viscera  dissecuit. 
Exanimum  corpus  linquens  caput  abstulit  heros 

Quocum  galumphat  multa,  domumque  redit. 

"Tune  Gaberbocchum  potuisti,  nate,  necare? 

Bemiscens,  puer !  ad  brachia  nostra  veni. 
Oh !  f rabiusce  dies !  iterumque  caloque  calaque 

Laetus  eo!  ut  chortlet  chortla  superba  senex." 

Hora  aderat  briligi.    Nunc  et  Slythaeia  Tova 

Plurima  gyrabant  gymbolitare  vabo; 
Et  Borogovorum  mimzebant  undique  formae, 

Momiferique  omnes  exgrabuere  Rathi. 

HASSARD  DODGSON. 

A  classic  classicised. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  35 


DEE  JAMMERWOCH 

Es  brillig  war.     Die  schlichte  Toven 

Wirrten  und  wimmelten  in  Waben; 
Und  aller-miimsige  Burggoven 

Die  mohmen  Rath'  ausgraben. 

Bewahre  doch  vor  Jammerwoch ! 

Die  Zahne  knirschen,  Krallen  kratzen! 
Bewahr'  vor  Jubjub — vogel,  vor 

Frumib'sen  Banderschnatzchen ! 

Er  griff  sein  vorpals  Schwertchen  zu, 

Er  suchte  lang  das  manchsam'  Ding; 
Dann,  stehend  unten  Tumtum  Baum, 

Er  an-zu-denken-fing. 

Als  stand  er  tief  in  Andacht  auf, 

Des   Jammerwochen's   Augen-feuer 
Durch  tulgen  Wald  mit  wiffek  kam 

Ein  burbelnd  ungeheuer! 

Eins,  swei !  Eins,  swei !     Und  dureh  und  durcb 
Sein  vorpals  Schwert  zerschnifer-schniick, 

Da  bleibt  es  todt!     Er,  Kopf  in  hand 
Gelaumfig  zog  zuriick. 

Und  schlugst  Du  ja  den  Jammerwoch? 

Umarme  mich,  mein  Bbhm'sches  Kind! 
0  Freuden-Tag!    0  Halloo-Schlag ! 

Er  chortelt  froh-gesinnt. 

Es  brillig  war.     Die  schlichte  Toven 
Wirrten  und  wimmelten  in  Wabenj 
Und  aller-mumsige  Burggoven 
Die  mohmen  Rath'  ausgraben. 

THOMAS  CHATTERTON. 
Good  work! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


SOMEWHERE-IN-EUROPE- 
WOCKY 

'Twas  brussels,  and  the  loos  liege 
Did  meuse  and  arras  in  latour; 

All  vimy  were  the  metz  maubege, 
And  the  tsing-tau  namur. 

"Beware  the  petrograd,  my  son — 
The  jaws  that  bite,  the  claws  that 
plough ! 

Beware  the  posen,  and  verdun 
The  soldan  mons  glogau !" 

He  took  his  dixmude  sword  in  hand; 

Long  time  his  altkirch  foe  he  sought ; 
Then  rested  he  'neath  the  Warsaw  tree, 

And  stood  awhile  in  thought. 

And  as  in  danzig  thought  he  stood 
The  petrograd,  with  eyes  of  flame, 

Came  ypring  through  the  cracow  wood, 
And  longwied  as  it  came. 

One  two !    One  two !    and  through  and 

through 

The    dixinude   blade   went    snicker- 
snack  ; 

He  left  it  dead,  and  with  its  head 
He  gallipolied  back. 

"And  hast  thou  slain  the  petrograd? 

Come  to  my  arms,  my  krithnia  boy ! 
0  chanak  day!    Artois!    Grenay!" 

He  woevred  in  his  joy. 

'Twas  brussels,  and  the  loos  liege 
Did  meuse  and  arras  in  latour; 

All  vimy  were  the  metz  maubege, 
And  the  tsing-tau  namur. 

F.  G.  HARTSWICK. 


The  "horrors  of  war. 


Written  solely  because  everybody's 
doing  it 

'Twas  Harpers,  and  the  Little  Browns 
Did  Houghton  Mifflin  the  book; 

All  Munsey  were  the  Benzigers, 
And  the  Doddmeads  Outlook. 


Beware  the  Lamsonwolffe,  my  son, 
The  Lane  that's  Long,  the  Heaths 
that  Flood; 

The  Randmcnally  Appleton, 
And  frumious  Orange  Judd. 

He  took  his  Ogilvie  in  hand 
Long  time  the  Doxey  Co.  he  sought; 

So  Wessels  he  by  the  Century, 
And  Scribners  as  in  thought. 

And  as  in  Moffatt  Yard  he  stood, 
The  Lippincott  with  eyes  of  flame 

Bobbs  Merrilly  through  William  Wood, 
And  Duffield  as  it  came. 


McClurg!  McClure!  and  through  and 

througher 

His    Putnam    blade    went    snicker- 
snack  ; 

He  left  it  then,  and  with  his  Penn 
He  went  Macmillan  back. 

And  hast  thou  found  the  Henryholt? 

Come  to  my  arms,  my  Lairdandlee; 
Oh,  Doubleday!     Cassell!     Callay! 

Small  Maynard  in  his  glee. 

'Twas  Harpers,  and  the  Little  Browns 
Did  Houghton  Mifflin  the  book; 

All  Munsey  were  the  Benzigers, 
And   the   Doddmeads'   Outlook. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


37 


"MONA  LISA" 

Mona  Lisa,  Mona  Lisa! 
Have  you  gone?    Great  Julius  Caesar! 
Who's  the  Chap  so  bold  and  pinchey 
Thus  to  swipe  the  great  da  Vinci, 
Taking  France's  first  Chef  d'oeuvre 
Squarely  from  old  Mr.  Louvre, 
Easy  as  some  pocket-picker 
Would  remove  our  handkerchicker 
As  we  ride  in  careless  folly 
On  some  gaily  bounding  trolley? 

Mona  Lisa,   Mona  Lisa, 
Who's  your  Captor?    Doubtless  he's  a 
Crafty  sort  of  treasure-seeker — 
Ne'er  a  Turpin  e'er  was  sleeker — 
But,  alas,  if  he  can  win  you 
Easily  as  I  could  chin  you, 
What  is  safe  in  all  the  nations 
From  his  dreadful  depredations? 
He's  the  style  of  Chap,  I'm  thinkin', 
Who  will  drive  us  all  to  drinkin'! 

Mona   Lisa,   Mona  Lisa, 
Next  he'll  swipe  the  Tower  of  Pisa, 
Pulling  it  from  out  its  socket 
For  to  hide  it  in  his  pocket ; 
Or  perhaps  he'll  up  and  steal,  0, 
Madame  Venus,  late  of  Milo; 
Or  maybe  while  on  the  grab  he 
Will  annex  Westminster  Abbey, 
And  elope  with  that  distinguished 
Heap  of  Ashes  long  extinguished. 

Maybe  too,  0  Mona  Lisa, 
He  will  come  across  the  seas  a — 
Searching  for  the  style  of  treasure 
That  we  have  in  richest  measure. 
Sunset  Cox's  brazen  statue, 
Have  a  care  lest  he  shall  catch  you! 
Or  maybe  he'll  set  his  eye  on 
Hammerstein's,  or  the  Flatiron, 
Or  some  bit  of  White  Wash  done 
By  those  lads  at  Washington — 


Truly  he's  a  crafty  geezer, 
Is  your  Captor,  Mona  Lisa ! 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS. 

Well,  maybe  this  nonsense  isn't  so 
sheer  as  some,  but  you  can  see  through 
it  anyway. 

FOOTBALLWOCKY 

'Twas  killing,  and  the  muddied  coves 
Did  jab  and  jibber  on  the  grid; 

All  gory  were  the  football  groves, 
And  that  halfback,  the  Kid. 

"Beware  the  Sluggawock,  my  son, 
The    forward    pass,    the    oft-jarred 
spine ; 

Beware  the  Tacklebob,  and  run 
For  good  old  Umptynine." 

He  took  the  football  in  his  hand, 
Long  time  another's  life  he  sought; 

And  then  he  rested  (couldn't  stand) 
Till  ambulance  was  brought. 

And  bandaged  up  in  bed  he  rocks, 
And    Sluggawock    right    from    the 

game 
Came     lumbering     in     with     fresher 

knocks, 
And  left  him  still  more  lame. 

"Hooroo,  hooroo,"  the  whistle  blew, 
The  rooters  still  kept  up  their  clack, 

But  March  hares  danced   his  system 

through 
And  dealt  him  hack  on  hack. 

"And  hast  thou  slain  the  Sluggawock? 

Come  to   my   arms,   my   squeamish 

boy" 
**Kazoo,  kazay,"  the  rooters  bray 

In  seasonable  joy. 

Not  the  worst  of  the  Wockys. 


38 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  ASP 

The  asp  sat  on  the  aspen  leaf, 
'Twas  shaking  mighty  bad; 

The  asp  at  first  gave  way  to  grief, 
And  then  became  right  mad. 

Mad  in  the  luny  sense,  I  mean, 
Demented,  crazed,  insane; 

Rats  in  his  attic,  off  his  bean, 
Unsettled  in  the  brain. 

Vibrating  like  a  stricken  gong, 
The  asp  cried,  wildly,  "If 

Some  guy  would  only  come  along 
And  scare  this  aspen  stiff!" 

You  readily  can  see  from  that, 

How  warped  the  poor  asp's  mind, 
While  on  the  aspen  leaf  he  sat, 
All  shaken  by  the  wind. 

Spasm  to  frenzy  seemed  to  add, 
Like  one  of  those  waves  tidal; 

Till  hydrophobia  he  had, 
And  mania  homicidal. 

Perceiving  Cleopatra  sit 

Awaiting  of  her  Mark, 
In  rabid  haste  the  queen  he  bit, 

And  left  her  stiff  and  stark. 

What  happened  then,  I  do  not  know, 
So  do  not  ask  me,  please. 

I  cannot  tell  you  even  though 
You  beg  and  coax  and  tease, 

Or  plead  until  for  breath  you  gasp, 

'Twill  be  of  no  avail; 
For  all  I  know  about  that  asp 

Is  written  in  this  tale. 

Queer  things,  asps. 


THE  NAPOLEON  OF  NOTTING 
HILL 

"In  a  hollow  of  the  grey-green  hills 
of  rainy  Ireland  lived  an  old,  old 
woman,  whose  uncle  was  always  Cam- 
bridge at  the  Boat  Race.  But  in  her 
grey-green  hollows,  she  knew  nothing 
of  this;  she  didn't  even  know  that 
there  was  a  Boat  Race.  Also  she  did 
not  know  that  she  had  an  uncle.  She 
had  heard  of  nobody  at  all,  except  of 
George  the  First,  of  whom  she  had 
heard  (I  know  not  why),  and  in  wfiose 
historical  memory  she  put  her  simple 
trust.  And  by  and  by,  in  God's  good 
time,  it  was  discovered  that  this  uncle 
of  hers  was  not  really  her  uncle,  and 
they  came  and  told  her  so.  She  smiled 
through  her  tears,  and  said  only, 
'Virtue  is  its  own  reward.'" 

GILBERT  K.  CHESTERTON. 
A  Humourometer. 


Portrait  of,   but  not   by,  a   Well-known 
Compiler   of   Humorous    Anthologies 


SOME  NAUTICAL  BALLADS 


<Si  J>lo.&> 


A  Nautical  Fancy  by  M61anie  E.  Norton 


ALL  AT  SEA 

The  Voyage  of  a  Certain  Uncertain  Sailorman. 

I  saw  a  certain  sailorman  who  sat  beside  the  sea, 

And  in  the  manner  of  his  tribe  he  yawned  this  yarn  to  me: 

"  'Twere  back  in  eighteen-fifty-three,  or  mebbe  fifty-four, 

I  skipped  the  farm, — no,  't  were  the  shop, — an'  went  to  Baltimore. 

I  shipped  aboard  the  Lizzie — or  she  might  ha'  bin  the  Jane; 

Them  wimmin  names  are  mixey,  so  I  don't  remember  plain; 

But  anyhow,  she  were  a  craft  that  carried  schooner  rig, 

(Although  Sam  Swab,  the  bo'sun,  allus  swore  she  were  a  brig) ; 

We  sailed  away  from  Salem  Town, — no,  lemme  think; — 't  were  Lynn, — 

An'  steered  a  course  for  Africa  (or  Greece,  it  might  ha'  bin) ; 

But  anyway,  we  tacked  an'  backed  an'  weathered  many  a  storm — 

Oh,  no, — as  I  recall  it  now,  that  week  was  fine  an'  warm! 

Who  did  I  say  the  cap'n  was?    I  didn't  say  at  all? 

Wa-a-11  now,  his  name  were  'Lijah  Bell — or  was  it  Eli  Ball? 

I  kinder  guess  't  were  Eli.    He'd  a  big,  red,  bushy  beard — 

No-o-o,  come  to  think,  he  allus  kept  his  whiskers  nicely  sheared. 

But  anyhow,  that  voyage  was  the  first  I'd  ever  took, 

An'  all  I  had  to  do  was  cut  up  cabbage  for  the  cook; 

But  come  to  talk  o'  cabbage  just  reminds  me, — that  there  trip 

Would  prob'ly  be  my  third  one,  on  a  Hong  Kong  clipper-ship. 

The  crew  they  were  a  jolly  lot,  an'  used  to  sing  'Avast,' 
I  think  it  were,  or  else  'Ahoy,'  while  bailing  out  the  mast. 
And  as  I  recollect  it  now, — " 

But  here  I  cut  him  short, 

And  said:  "It's  time  to  tack  again,  and  bring  your  wits  to  port; 
I  came  to  get  a  story  both  adventurous  and  true, 
And  here  is  how  I  started  out  to  write  the  interview: 
'I  saw  a  certain  sailorman,'  but  you  turn  out  to  be 
The  most  ttn-certain  sailorman  that  ever  sailed  the  sea!" 

He  puffed  his  pipe,  and  answered,  "Wa-a-11,  I  thought  'twere  mine,  but 

still, 
Z  must  ha'  told  the  one  belongs  to  my  twin  brother  Bill!" 

FREDERICK:  MOXON. 

Lovable  old  sailor  man.    7  do  detest  those  smug  people  who  are  always  "sure 
of  their  facts." 

m 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  RIME  OF  THE  BETSY  JANE 
A  manuscript  found  in  a  bottle 

It  was  the  good  ship  Betsy  Jane, 
That  sailed  in  a  spanking  breeze, 

With   a  bunch   of  militant    Suffs   on 
board, 

Condemned  to  an  island  unexplored, 
In  far  off  southern  seas. 

The  Suffs  they  went  on  a  hunger  strike, 

And  nothing  eat  would  they, 
So  the  skipper,  a  conscientious  man, 
Was   forced   to    the   forcible   feeding 

plan, 
In  the  genteel  British  way. 

A  squall  came  up  and  the  ship  went 

down, 

And  we  of  the  Betsy  Jane 
Were  left  on  the  raft  in  a  dreadful 

plight, 

With  never  a  friendly  sail  in  sight, 
On  the  well-known  raging  main. 

Our  skipper,  a  conscientious  man, 
Divided  the  grub  with  care. 

Says  he:    "It's  share  and  share  alike; 

You  dames  can  eat  or  stay  on  strike, 
But  damme !  there's  your  share." 

The  waves  ran  high,  the  grub  ran  low, 

And  never  a  sail  we  saw, 
The  Suffs  they  scorned  the  pork  and 

bread, 
And  "Votes   for  Wimmen!"   was  all 

they  said, 
And  never  a  chaw  they'd  chaw. 

The  starving  crew  of  the  Betsy  Jane 

They  watched  their  end  draw  near; 
Till,  "Blast  my  eyes!"  said  Bosun  Bill, 
"If  they  won't  eat  their  chuck,  I  will!" 
And  the  rest  of  us  give  a  cheer. 


But  the  skipper,  a  conscientious  man, 

A  pistol  huge  drew  he. 
"Who  touches  a  hunk  of  yonder  bread 
Dies  like  a  dog!    Back  up!"  he  said, 

And 

Right    here    the    tale    in    the    bottle 

stopped, 

And  left  me  on  tiptoe; 
For  how  they  straightened  the  matter 

out, 

Or  whether  their  fate  is  still  in  doubt, 
I'd  jolly  well  like  to  know. 

BERT  LESTON  TAYLOR. 
Once  more  the  Nautical  Ballad. 


Portrait  of  and  by  Hatching 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  43 


THE  POST  CAPTAIN 

When  they  heard  the  Captain  humming  and  beheld  the  dancing  crew, 
On  the  "Royal  Biddy"  frigate  was  Sir  Peter  Bombazoo; 
His  mind  was  full  of  music  and  his  head  was  full  of  tunes, 
And  he  cheerfully  exhibited  on  pleasant  afternoons. 

He  could  whistle,  on  his  fingers,  an  invigorating  reel, 

And  could  imitate  a  piper  on  the  handles  of  the  wheel; 

He  could  play  in  double  octaves,  too,  all  up  and  down  the  rail, 

Or  rattle  off  a  rondo  on  the  bottom  of  a  pail. 

Then  porters  with  their  packages  and  bakers  with  their  buns, 
And  countesses  in  carriages  and  grenadiers  with  guns, 
And  admirals  and  commodores  arrived  from  near  and  far, 
To  listen  to  the  music  of  this  entertaining  tar. 

When  they  heard  the  captain  humming  and  beheld  the  dancing  crew, 
The  commodores  severely  said,  "Why,  this  will  never  do !" 
And  the  admirals  all  hurried  home,  remarking,  "This  is  most 
Extraordinary  conduct  for  a  captain  at  his  post." 

Then  they  sent  some  sailing-orders  to  Sir  Peter,  in  a  boat, 
And  he  did  a  little  fifing  on  the  edges  of  the  note ; 
But  he  read  the  sailing  orders,  as  of  course  he  had  to  do, 
And  removed  the  "Royal  Biddy"  to  the  Bay  of  Boohgabooh. 

Now,  Sir  Peter  took  it  kindly,  but  it's  proper  to  explain 
He  was  sent  to  catch  a  pirate  out  upon  the  Spanish  Main. 
And  he  played,  with  variations,   an  imaginary  tune 
On  the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat,  like  a  jocular  bassoon. 

Then  a  topman  saw  the  pirate  come  a-sailing  in  the  bay, 
And  reported  to  the  captain  in  the  ordinary  way. 
"I'll  receive  him,"  said  Sir  Peter,  "with  a  musical  salute," 
And  he  gave  some  imitations  of  a  double- jointed  flute. 

Then  the  Pirate  cried  derisively,  "I've  heard  it  done  before!" 
And  he  hoisted  up  a  banner  emblematical  of  gore. 
But  Sir  Peter  said  serenely,  "You  may  double-shot  the  guns 
While  I  sing  my  little  ballad  of  'The  Butter  on  the  Buns.'" 

Then  the  Pirate  banged  Sir  Peter  and  Sir  Peter  banged  him  back, 
And  they  banged  away  together  as  they  took  another  tack. 
Then  Sir  Peter  said,  politely,  "You  may  board  him,  if  you  like," 
And  he  played  a  little  dirge  upon  the  handle  of  a  pike. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Then  the  "Biddies"  poured  like  hornets  down  upon  the  Pirate's  deck 
And  Sir  Peter  caught  the  Pirate  and  he  took  him  by  the  neck, 
And  remarked,  "You  must  excuse  me,  but  you  acted  like  a  brute 
When  I  gave  my  imitation  of  that  double- jointed  flute." 

So  they  took  that  wicked  Pirate  and  they  took  his  wicked  crew, 
And  tied  them  up  with  double  knots  in  packages  of  two. 
And  left  them  lying  on  their  backs  in  rows  upon  the  beach 
With  a  little  bread  and  water  within  comfortable  reach. 

Now  the  Pirate  had  a  treasure  (mostly  silverware  and  gold), 
And  Sir  Peter  took  and  stowed  it  in  the  bottom  of  his  hold; 
And  said,  "I  will  retire  on  this  cargo  of  doubloons, 
And  each  of  you,  my  gallant  crew,  may  have  some  silver  spoons." 

Now  commodores  in  coach-and-fours  and  corporals  in  cabs, 
And  men  with  carts  of  pies  and  tarts  and  fishermen  with  crabs, 
And  barristers  with  wigs,  in  gigs,  still  gather  on  the  strand, 
But  there  isn't  any  music  save  a  little  German  band. 

CHARLES  E.  CABRYL. 
A.  Tip-topper. 


THE  YAEN  OF  THE  NANCY 
BELL 

'Twas  on  the  shores  that  round  our 
coast 

From  Deal  to  Ramsgate  span, 
That  I  found  alone  on  a  piece  of  stone 

An  elderly  naval  man. 

His  hair  was  weedy,  his  beard  was 

long, 

And  weedy  and  long  was  he, 
And  I  heard  this  wight  on  the  shore 

recite 
In  a  singular  minor  key: 

"Oh,  I  am  a  cook,  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig!" 

And  he  shook  his  fists  and  he  tore  his 

hair, 
Till  I  really  felt  afraid, 


For  I  couldn't  help  thinking  the  man 

had  been  drinking, 
And  so  I  simply  said: 

"Oh,  elderly  man,  it's  little  I  know 
Of  the  duties  of  men  of  the  sea, 

And  I'll  eat  my  hand  if  I  understand 
How  you  can  possibly  be 

"At  once  a  cook,  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

Then  he  gave  a  hitch  to  his  trousers, 
which 

Is  a  trick  all  seamen  larn, 
And  having  got  rid  of  a  thumpin'  quid, 

He  spun  this  painful  yarn: 

"  'Twas  in  the  good  ship  Nancy  Bell 
That  we  sailed  to  the  Indian  Sea, 

And  there  on  a  reef  we  come  to  grief, 
Which  has  often  occurred  to  me. 


V/E  WER.E  ON  THE   STARBOARD  TACK.  THE  MATE 
BEING  ON  THE  WATCH, AND  THE  CAPTAm  PAUNC 
THE  DECK,  WHEN  THE  BOATSWAIN  PIPED  AU 
HANDS  ON  DECK" 


You  see,  the  bo'sun  piped  the  mast, — 
(That's  why  it  doesn't  rhyme)  ; 
For  though  they  called  the  Captain  fast, 
The  mate  was  ripht  on  time! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


"And  pretty  nigh  all  o'  the  crew  was 
drowned 

(There  was  seventy-seven  o'  soul), 
And  only  ten  of  the  Nancy's  men 

Said  'Here!'  to  the  muster  roll. 

"There  was  me,  and  the  cook,  and  the 

captain  bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  the  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midship- 
mite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

"For  a  month  we'd  neither  wittles  nor 
drink, 

Till  a-hungry  we  did  feel, 
So  we  drawed  a  lot,  and  accordin'  shot 

The  captain  for  our  meal. 

"The  next  lot  fell  to  the  Nancy's  mate, 
And  a  delicate  dish  he  made; 

Then  our  appetite  with  the  midshipmite 
We  seven  survivors  stayed. 

"And  then   we   murdered  the  bo'sun 

tight, 

And  he  much  resembled  pig; 
Then   we  wittled  free,   did  the  cook 

and  me, 
On  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

"Then  only  the  cook  and  me  was  left, 
And  the  delicate  question,  'Which 

Of  us  two  goes  to  the  kettle?'  arose, 
And  we  argued  it  out  as  sich. 

"For  I  loved  that  cook  as  a  brother, 

I  did, 

And  the  cook  he  worshipped  me; 
But  we'd  both  be  blowed  if  we'd  either 

be  stowed 
In  the  other  chap's  hold,  you  see. 

"  'I'll  be  eat  if  you  dines  of  me,'  says 
Tom; 

'Yes,  that,'  says  I,  'you'll  be.' 
'I'm  boiled  if  I  die,  my  friend,'  quoth  I ; 

And  'Exactly  so,'  quoth  he. 


"Says  he,  'Dear  James,  to  murder  me 

Were  a  foolish  thing  to  do, 
For  don't  you  see  that  you  can't  cook 
me 

While  I  can — and  will — cook  you?' 

"So  he  boils  the  water,  and  takes  the 

salt 

And  the  pepper  in  portions  true 
(Which  he  never  forgot),  and  some 

chopped  shalot 
And  some  sage  and  parsley  too. 

"  'Come  here,'  says  he,  with  a  proper 
pride, 

Which  his  smiling  features  tell, 
"Twill  soothing  be  if  I  let  you  see 

How  extremely  nice  you'll  smell.' 

"And  he  stirred  it  round  and  round  and 

round, 
And    he    sniffed    at    the    foaming 

broth — 

When  I  ups  with  his  heels,  and  smoth- 
ers his  squeals 
In  the  scum  of  the  boiling  broth. 

"And  I  eat  that  cook  in  a  week  or  less, 

And — as  I  eating  be 
The  last  of  his  chops,  why,  I  almost 

drops, 

For  a  wessel  in  sight  I  see. 
»          »          »          »          » 

"And  I  never  grieve,  and  I  never  smile, 
And  I  never  larf  nor  play; 

But  I  sit  and  croak,  and  a  single  joke 
I  have — which  is  to  say: 

"Oh,  I  am  a  cook,  and  a  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig!" 

W.  S.  GILBERT. 
The  best  of  the  elderly  naval  ballads. 


46  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  BILLYCOCK 

It  was  the  good  ship  Billycock,  with  thirteen  men  aboard, 
Athirst  to  grapple  with  their  country's  foes, — 

A  crew,  'twill  be  admitted,  not  numerically  fitted 
To  navigate  a  battleship  in  prose. 

It  was  the  good  ship  Billycock  put  out  from  Plymouth  Sound, 

While  lustily  the  gallant  heroes  cheered, 
And  all  the  air  was  ringing  with  the  merry  bo'sun's  singing, 

Till  in  the  gloom  of  night  she  disappeared. 

But  when  the  morning  broke  on  her,  behold,  a  dozen  ships, 

A  dozen  ships  of  Prance,  around  her  lay, 
(Or  if  that  isn't  plenty,  I  will  gladly  make  it  twenty,) 

And  hemmed  her  close  in  Salamander  Bay. 

Then  to  the  Lord  High  Admiral  there  spake  a  cabin  boy; 

"Methinks,"  he  said,  "the  odds  are  somewhat  great, 
And,  in  the  present  crisis,  a  cabin  boy's  advice  is, 

That  you  and  France  had  better  arbitrate." 

"Pooh !"  said  the  Lord  High  Admiral,  and  slapped  his  lordly  chest, 
"Pooh!  that  would  be  both  cowardly  and  wrong; 

Shall  I,  a  gallant  fighter,  give  the  needy  ballad  writer 
No  suitable  material  for  song?" 

"Nay, — is  the  shorthand  writer  here?    I  tell  you,  one  and  all, 

I  mean  to  do  my  duty  as  I  ought; 
With  eager  satisfaction  let  us  clear  the  decks  for  action 

And  fight  the  craven  Frenchmen !"     So  they  fought. 

And  (after  several  stanzas  which  as  yet  are  incomplete, 

Describing  all  the  fight  in  epic  style) 
When  the  Billycock  was  going,  she'd  a  dozen  prizes  towing 

(Or  twenty,  as  above)  in  single  file. 

Ah,  long  in  glowing  English  hearts  the  story  will  remain, 

The  memory  of  that  historic  day, 
And,  while  we  rule  the  ocean,  we  will  picture  with  emotion 

The  Billycock  in  Salamander  Bay! 

P.  S.  I've  lately  noticed  that  the  critics,  who,  I  think, 

In  praising  my  productions  are  remiss — 
Quite  easily  are  captured,  and  profess  themselves  enraptured, 

By  patriotic  ditties  such  as  this. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  47 


For  making  which  you  merely  take  some  dauntless  Englishmen, 

Guns,  heroism,  slaughter  and  a  fleet — 
Ingredients  you  mingle  in  a  meter  with  a  jingle, 

And  there  you  have  your  masterpiece  complete. 

Why,  then,  with  labour  infinite,  produce  a  book  of  verse, 

To  languish  on  the  "All  at  Twopence"  shelf? 
The  ballad  bold  and  breezy  comes  particularly  easy — 

I  mean  to  take  to  writing  it  myself! 

ANTHONY  C.  DEANE. 

When  in  doubt  write  a  nautical  ballad. 


CLASSICAL  CRITICISM 
21  B.  c. 

Old  Horace,  on  a  summer  afternoon, 
Well  primed  with  sweet  Falernian,  let  us  say, 
Lulled  by  the  far-off  brooklet's  drowsy  croon 
To  a  half -doze;  in  a  hap-hazard  way 
Scratched  off  a  half  a  dozen  careless  rhymes, 
As  was  his  habit.     When  next  day  he  came 
Awake  to  work,  he  read  them  several  times 
In  vain  attempt  to  catch  their  sense  and  aim. 
"What  was  I  thinking  about?     Blest  if  I  know! 
Jupiter!    What's  the  difference? — Let  them  go." 

1888  A.D. 

"Lines  twelve  to  twenty  are  in  great  dispute," 

(Most  learnedly  the  lecturer  doth  speak) 

"I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  refute 

Orelli's  claim  they're  taken  from  the  Greek. 

I   think,  with  Bentley,   Horace's   purpose   here 

Is  irony,  and  yet  I  do  not  know 

But  Dillenburger's  reading  is  more  clear 

For  which  he  gives  eight  arguments,  although 

Wilkins  gives  twelve  objections  to  the  same." 

(So  on  ad  infinitum.)     Such  is  fame. 

GEORQB  L.  RICHARDSON. 

Oh,  you  College  Professors! 


48 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


NEMESIS 

The  man  who  invented  the  women's 

waists  that  button  down  behind, 
And  the  man  who  invented  the  cans 

with  keys  and  the  strips  that  will 

never  wind, 
Were  put  to  sea  in  a  leaky  boat  and 

with  never  a  bite  to  eat 
But  a  couple  of  dozen  of  patent  cans 

in  which  was  their  only  meat. 

And  they  sailed  and  sailed   o'er  the 

ocean  wide  and  never  they  had  a 

taste 
Of  aught  to  eat,  for  the  cans  stayed 

shut,  and  a  peek-a-boo  shirtwaist 
Was  all  they  had  to  bale  the  brine 

that  came  in  the  leaky  boat; 
And  their  tongues  were  thick  and  their 

throats  were  dry,  and  they  barely 

kept  afloat. 

They  came  at  last  to  an  island  fair,  and 

a  man  stood  on  the  shore, 
So  they  flew  a  signal  of  distress  and 

their  h<5pes  rose  high  once  more, 
And  they  called  to  him  to  fetch  a  boat, 

for  their  craft  was  sinking  fast, 
And  a  couple  of  hours  at  best  they 

knew  was  all  their  boat  would  last. 

So  he  called  to  them  a  cheery  call  and 
he  said  he  would  make  haste, 

But  first  he  must  go  back  to  his  wife 
and  button  up  her  waist, 

Which  would  only  take  him  an  hour  or 
so  and  then  he  would  fetch  a  boat. 

And  the  man  who  invented  the  back- 
stairs waist,  he  groaned  in  his 
swollen  throat. 

The  hours  passed  by  on  leaden  wings 

and  they  saw  another  man 
In  the  window  of  a  bungalow,  and 

he  held  a  tin  meat  can 


In  his  bleeding  hands,  and  they  called 
to  him,  not  once  but  twice  and  thrice, 

And  he  said:  "Just  wait  till  I  open 
this  and  I'll  be  there  in  a  trice!" 

And  the  man  who  invented  the  patent 

cans    he    knew    what    the    promise 

meant, 
So  he  leaped  in  air  with  a  horrid  cry 

and  into  the  sea  he  went, 
And  the  bubbles  rose  where  he  sank 

and  sank  and  a  groan  choked  in  the 

throat 
Of  the  man  who  invented  the  backstairs 

waist  and  he  sank  with  the  leaky 

boat! 

J.  W.  FOLEY. 

Favouring  the  theory  o/  Individual 
Infernos. 

REUBEN 

That    very    time    I    saw,    (but    thou 

couldst  not), 
Walking  between  the  garden  and  the 

barn, 
Reuben,  all  armed;  a  certain  aim  he 

took 
At   a  young  chicken,   standing  by  a 

post, 
And  loosed  his  bullet  smartly  from  his 

gun, 
As  he  would  kill  a  hundred  thousand 

hens. 
But  I  might  see  young  Reuben's  fiery 

shot 
Lodged   in   the    chaste   board   of   the 

garden  fence, 

And  the  domesticated  fowl  passed  on, 
In  henly  meditation,  bullet  free. 

PHEBE  GARY. 

Miss  Phebe  Gary  was  one  of  the 
salt  of  the  Earth.  And  if  her  lines 
aren't  as  well  known  as  Shakespeare's, 
it's  because  he  beat  her  to  it. 


The  Universal  Prayer. 


50  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


DIVIDED  DESTINIES 

It  was  an  artless  Bandar,  and  he  danced  upon  a  pine, 

And  much  I  wondered  how  he  lived,  and  where  the  beast  might  dine, 

And  many,  many  other  things,  till,  o'er  my  morning  smoke, 

I  slept  the  sleep  of  idleness  and  dreamed  that  Bandar  spoke. 

He  said:     "Oh,  man  of  many  clothes!  sad  crawler  on  the  Hills! 
Observe,  I  know  not  Ranken's  shop,  nor  Ranken's  monthly  bills! 
I  take  no  heed  to  trousers  or  the  coats  that  you  call  dress; 
Nor  am  I  plagued  with  little  cards  for  little  drinks  at  Mess. 

"I  steal  the  bunnia's  grain  at  morn,  at  noon  and  eventide 
(For  he  is  fat  and  I  am  spare),  I  roam  the  mountainside, 
I  follow  no  man's  carriage,  and  no,  never  in  my  life 
Have  I  flirted  at  Peliti's  with  another  Bandar's  wife. 

"Oh,  man  of  futile  fopperies — unnecessary  wraps; 
I  own  no  ponies  in  the  Hills,  I  drive  no  tall-wheeled  traps; 
I  buy  me  not  twelve-button  gloves,  'short-sixes'  eke,  or  rings, 
Nor  do  I  waste  at  Hamilton's  my  wealth  on  pretty  things. 

"I  quarrel  with  my  wife  at  home,  we  never  fight  abroad; 

But  Mrs.  B.  has  grasped  the  fact  I  am  her  only  lord. 

I  never  heard  of  fever — dumps  nor  debts  depress  my  soul; 

And  I  pity  and  despise  you !"    Here  he  pouched  my  breakfast-roll. 

His  hide  was  very  mangy  and  his  face  was  very  red, 
And  undisguisedly  he  scratched  with  energy  his  head. 
His  manners  were  not  always  nice,  but  how  my  spirit  cried 
To  be  an  artless  Bandar  loose  upon  the  mountainside ! 

So  I  answered:     "Gentle  Bandar,  an  inscrutable  Decree 
Makes  thee  a  gleesome,  fleasome  Thou,  and  me  a  wretched  Me. 
Go!    Depart  in  peace,  my  brother,  to  thy  home  amid  the  pine; 
Yet  forget  not  once  a  mortal  wished  to  change  his  lot  with  thine." 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

You  can't  help  liking  the  Bandar. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  51 


THE  NEW  VESTMENTS 

There  lived  an  old  man  in  the  kingdom  of  Tess, 
Who  invented  a  purely  original  dress; 
And  when  it  was  perfectly  made  and  complete, 
He  opened  the  door  and  walked  into  the  street. 


By  way  of  a  hat  he'd  a  loaf  of  Brown  Bread, 

In  the  middle  of  which  he  inserted  his  head; 

His  Shirt  was  made  up  of  no  end  of  dead  Mice, 

The  warmth  of  whose  skins  was  quite  fluffy  and  nice;' 

His  Drawers  were  of  Rabbit-skins,  so  were  his  Shoes, 

His  Stockings  were  skins,  but  it  is  not  known  whose; 

His  Waistcoat  and  Trowsers  were  made  of  Pork  Chops  j 

His  Buttons  were  Jujubes  and  Chocolate  Drops. 

His  Coat  was  all  Pancakes  with  Jam  for  a  border, 

And  a  girdle  of  Biscuits  to  keep  it  in  order. 

And  he  wore  over  all,  as  a  screen  from  bad  weather, 

A  Cloak  of  green  Cabbage  leaves,  stitched  all  together. 


He  had  walked  a  short  way,  when  he  heard  a  great  noise 

Of  all  sorts  of  Beasticles,  Birdlings  and  Boys; 

And  from  every  long  street  and  dark  lane  in  the  town 

Beasts,  Birdies  and  Boys  in  a  tumult  rushed  down. 

Two  Cows  and  a  Calf  ate  his  Cabbage  leaf  Cloak; 

Four  Apes  seized  his  girdle  which  vanished  like  smoke; 

Three  Kids  ate  up  half  of  his  Pancaky  Coat, 

And  the  tails  were  devoured  by  an  ancient  He  Goat. 

An  army  of  Dogs  in  a  twinkling  tore  up  his 

Pork  Waistcoat  and  Trowsers  to  give  to  their  Puppies; 

And  while  they  were  growling  and  mumbling  the  Chops 

Ten  Boys  prigged  the  Jujubes  and  Chocolate  Drops. 

He  tried  to  run  back  to  his  house,  but  in  vain, 

For  scores  of  fat  Pigs  came  again  and  again; 

They  rushed  out  of  stables  and  hovels  and  doors, 

They  tore  off  his  Stockings,  his  Shoes  and  his  Drawers. 

And  now  from  the  housetops  with  screechings  descend 

Striped,  spotted,  white,  black  and  grey  Cats  without  end; 

They  jumped  on  his  shoulders  and  knocked  off  his  hat, 

When  Crows,  Ducks  and  Hens  made  a  mincemeat  of  that. 

They  speedily  flew  at  his  sleeves  in  a  trice 

And  utterly  tore  up  his  Shirt  of  dead  Mice; 

They  swallwed  the  last  of  his  Shirt  with  a  squall, — 

Whereon  he  ran  home  with  no  clothes  on  at  all. 


52  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


And  he  said  to  himself  as  he  bolted  the  door, 
"I  will  not  wear  a  similar  dress  any  more, 
Any  more,  any  more,  any  more,  nevermore!" 

EDWARD  LEAR. 

Darling  old  man! 


FROM  THE  UFFIZI  ABC 

B  is  Botticelli,  a  crazy  sort  of  man, 

Who  like  many  at  the  moment  when  the  pagan  craze  began, 

Confused  Saint  Paul  and  Socrates,  and  muddled  gods  and  saints 

Till  he  drew  a  Virgin  Mary  with  his  box  of  Venus  paints. 

There  is  something  very  lovely  in  his  easy,  flowing  grace, 

And  his  airiness  of  fancy  and  his  gentleness  of  face, 

The  softness  of  his  colours,  and  his  evident  delight 

In  catching  pretty  contours,  and  in  getting  most  things  right. 

Friend  Berenson  has  shown  us — and  we  bow  and  hearken  dumb — 

He  prefers  an  ample  earlobe  and  a  squarish  type  of  thumb; 

And  any  girl  will  tell  you  he  was  artful  in  his  ways 

When  he  made  his  rapt  Madonnas  wear  their  hair  like  Edna  May's. 

ARTHUR  MAQUARIB. 


FROM  THE  UFFIZI  ABC 

N  is  Bicci  Neri.    If  you  didn't  know  before, 
You  can  see  his  panel  paintings  hanging  in  the  corridor. 
There,  if  my  memory  serves  me,  you  will  find  a  lady  saint 
With  a  nice  magenta  petticoat,  well  handled — in  the  paint. 
(She  was  probably  his  model,  whom  the  artist  used  to  pose 
For  the  Virgin,  or  St.  Mary,  or  St.  Any-one-he-chose. 
And  I  fear  such  model  friendships  do  not  have  a  model  close. 
Alack !  how  many  painted  saints  each  generation  knows ! 
How  oft  we  find  magenta  is  not  true  couleur  de  rose. 
Nay,  the  desert  of  each  of  us,  S.  Johnson  says,  is  blows.) 
I  grant  you  Neri  doesn't  rank  among  the  greatest  men, 
But  he  does  me  this  politeness,  to  begin  his  name  with  N. 

ARTHUR  MAQUARIE. 

The  other  twenty-four  are  great! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


53 


THE  LLAMA 

The  Llama  is  a  woolly  sort  of  fleecy,  hairy  goat, 
With  an  indolent  expression  and  an  undulating  throat, 

Like  an  unsuccessful  literary  man. 

And  I  know  the  place  he  lives  in  (or  at  least  I  think  I  do) 
It  is  Ecuador,  Brazil  or  Chile — possibly  Peru; 

You  must  find  it  in  the  Atlas  if  you  can. 


The  Llama  of  the  Pampases  you  never  should  confound 
(In  spite  of  a  deceptive  similarity  of  sound,) 
With  the  Lhama  who  is  Lord  of  Turkestan. 


For  the  former  is  a  beautiful  and  valuable  beast, 
But  the  latter  is  not  loveable  nor  useful  in  the  least ; 
And  the  Ruminant  is  preferable  surely  to  the  Priest 
Who  battens  on  the  woful  superstitions  of  the  East, 
The  Mongol  of  the  Monastery  of  Shan. 

HILAIRE  BELLOC. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


ODE  TO  A  BOBTAILED  CAT 

Felis  Infelix!    Cat  unfortunate, 

With  nary  narrative! 
Canst  thou  no  tail  relate 
Of  how 
(Miaow !) 
Thy  tail  end  came  to  terminate  so 

bluntly 

Didst  wear  it  off  by 
Sedentary  habits 
As  do  the  rabbits? 


Didst  go  a 

Fishing  with  it, 
Wishing  with  it 
To  "bob"  for  catfish, 

And  get  bobbed  thyself? 
Curses  on  that  fish! 


Didst  lose  it  in  kittenhood, 
Hungrily  chawing  it? 

Or,  gaily  pursuing  it, 
Did  it  make  tangent 

From  thy  swift  circuit? 


Did  some  brother  Greyback — 
Yowling 
And  howling 

In  nocturnal  strife, 

Spitting  and  staring 
Cursing  and  swearing, 
Ripping  and  tearing, 
Calling  thee  "Sausagetail," 

Abbreviate  thy  suffix? 


Or  did  thy  jealous  wife 

Detect  yer 
In  some  sly  flirtation, 

And,  after  caudal  lecture, 
Bite  off  thy  termination? 
And  sarve  yer  right! 


Did  some  mischievous  boy, 
Some  barbarous  boy, 
Eliminate  thy  finis? 
(Probably!) 
The  wretch ! 
The  villain! 
Cruelly  spillin' 
Thy  innocent  blood ! 


Furiously  scratch  him 
Where'er  yer  may  catch  him! 


Well,  Bob,  this  course  now  is  left, 
Since  thus  of  your  tail  you're  bereft : 

Tell  your  friend  that  by  letter 

From  Paris 
You  have  learned  the  style  there  is 

To  wear  the  tail  short, 

And  the  briefer  the  better ; 

Such  is  the  passion, 
That  every  Grimalkin  will 

Follow  your  fashion. 

ANON. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  Manx  cat,  to  begin 
with. 


A  LULLABY 

A  little  old  man  came  riding  by. 

Says  I,  says  I. 

Says   I:    "Old  man,  your  horse  will 
die." 

Says  I,  says  I. 
"And,  if  he  dies,  I'll  tan  his  skin." 

Says  he,  says  he, 
"And,  if  he  lives,  I'll  ride  him  agin." 

Says  he,  says  he. 


The  lure  of  a  lullaby  lies  in  its  lilting 
refrain. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  55 


THE  TURTLE  AND  FLAMINGO 

A  lively  young  turtle  lived  down  by  the  banks 
Of  a  dark  rolling  stream  called  the  Jingo ; 
And  one  summer  day,  as  he  went  out  to  play, 
Fell  in  love  with  a  charming  flamingo — 
An  enormously  genteel  flamingo! 
An  expansively  crimson  flamingo ! 
A  beautiful,  bouncing  flamingo! 

Spake  the  turtle,  in  tones  like  a  delicate  wheeze: 

"To  the  water  I've  oft  seen  you  in  go, 

And  your  form  has  impressed  itself  deep  on  my  shell, 

You  perfectly  modelled  flamingo! 

You  tremendously  A-l  flamingo ! 

You  in-ex-press-i-ble  flamingo ! 

"To  be  sure,  I'm  a  turtle,  and  you  are  a  belle, 

And  my  language  is  not  your  fine  lingo; 

But  smile  on  me,  tall  one,  and  be  my  bright  flame, 

You  miraculous,  wondrous  flamingo! 

You  blazingly  beauteous  flamingo! 

You  turtle-absorbing  flamingo! 

You  inflammably  gorgeous  flamingo !" 

Then  the  proud  bird  blushed  redder  than  ever  before, 

And  that  was  quite  un-nec-es-sa-ry, 

And  she  stood  on  one  leg  and  looked  out  of  one  eye, 

The  position  of  things  for  to  vary, — 

This  aquatieal,  musing  flamingo! 

This  dreamy,  uncertain  flamingo! 

This  embarrassing,  harassing  flamingo! 

Then  she  cried  to  the  quadruped,  greatly  amazed: 

"Why  your  passion  toward  me  do  you  hurtle? 

I'm  an  ornithological  wonder  of  grace, 

And  you're  an  illogical  turtle, — 

A  waddling,  impossible  turtle ! 

A  low-minded,  grass-eating  turtle ! 

A  highly  improbable  turtle!" 

Then  the  turtle  sneaked  off  with  his  nose  to  the  ground 

And  never  more  looked  at  the  lasses; 

And  falling  asleep,  while  indulging  his  grief, 

Was  gobbled  up  whole  by  Agassiz, — 

The  peripatetic  Agassiz! 

The  turtle-dissecting  Agassiz! 

The  illustrious,  industrious  Agassiz! 


56 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Go  with  me  to  Cambridge  some  cool,  pleasant  day, 

And  the  skeleton  lover  I'll  show  you; 

He's  in  a  hard  case,  but  he'll  look  in  your  face, 

Pretending  (the  rogue!)  he  don't  know  you! 

Oh,  the  deeply  deceptive  young  turtle ! 

The  double-faced,  glassy-cased  turtle! 

The  green  but  a  very  mock  turtle! 

JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 


LEWIS  CABBOLL. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


57 


Studies 


W.  S.  GILBERT. 


58 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  TO  ELDER 
SNIFFLES 

0  reverend  sir,  I  do  declare 
It  drives  me  most  to  frenzy, 

To  think  of  you  a-lying  there 
Down  sick  with  influenzy. 

A  body'd  thought  it  was  enough 
To  mourn  your  wife's  departer, 

Without  sich  trouble  as  this  ere 
To  come  a-follerin'  arter. 

But  sickness  and  affliction 
Are  sent  by  a  wise  creation, 

And  always  ought  to  be  underwent 
By  patience  and  resignation. 

0,  I  could  to  your  bedside  fly, 
And  wipe  your  weeping  eyes, 

And  do  my  best  to  cure  you  up, 
If  'twouldn't  create  surprise. 

It's  a  world  of  trouble  we  tarry  in, 
But,  Elder,  don't  despair; 

That  you  may  soon  be  movin'  again 
Is  constantly  my  prayer. 

Both  sick  and  well,  you  may  depend 

You'll  never  be  forgot 
By   your   faithful   and   affectionate 
friend, 

PRISCILLA  POOL  BEDOTT. 

Frances  Miriam  Whitcher. 


The  stuff  that  made  our  grandsires 
chuckle. 


SONG  OF  THE  SPRINGTIDE 

0  Season  supposed  of  all  free  flowers, 
Made  lovely  by  light  of  the  sun, 

Of  garden,  of  field,  and  of  tree-flowers, 
Thy  singers  are  surely  in  fun! 

Or  what  is  it  wholly  unsettles 

Thy  sequence  of  shower  and  shine, 

And  maketh  thy  pushings  and  petals 
To   shrivel   and   pine? 

Why  is  it  that  o'er  the  wild  waters 

That  beastly  North-Easter  still  blows, 
Dust-dimming  the  eyes  of  our  daugh- 
ters, 

Blue-nipping  each  nice  little  nose? 
Why  is  it  these  sea-skirted  islands 

Are  plagued  with  perpetual  chills, 
Driving  men  to  Italian  or  Nile-lands 
From  Albion's  ills? 

Happy  he,   0   Springtide,   who  hath 

found  thee, 

All  sunlit,  in  luckier  lands, 
With  thy  garment  of  greenery  round 

thee, 

And  belted  with  blossomy  bands. 
From  us  by  the  blast  thou  art  drifted, 

All  brag  of  thy  beauties  is  bosh; 
When  the  songs   of  thy  singers  are 
sifted, 

They  simply  won't  wash. 

What  lunatic  lune,  what  vain  vision, 

Thy  laureate,  Springtide,  may  move 
To  sing  thee, — oh,  bitter  derision ! 
A  season  of  laughter  and  love? 
You  make  a  man  mad  beyond  measure, 
0  Spring,  and  thy  lauders  like  thee: 
Thy  flowers,  thy  pastimes  and  pleas- 
ures, 

Are  fiddlededee! 

And,  except  for  the  above,  so  are  the 
Spring  poems. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


59 


THE  JIM-JAM  KING  OF  THE 
JOU-JOUS 

An  Arabian  Legend 

Far  off  in  the  waste  of  desert  sand, 
The  Jim-jam  rules  in  the  Jou-jou  land : 
He  sits  on  a  throne  of  red-hot  rocks, 
And  moccasin  snakes  are  his  curling 

locks ; 
And  the  Jou-jous  have  the  conniption 

fits 
In  the  far-off  land  where  the  Jim- jam 

sits — 
If  things  are  nowadays  as  things  were 

then. 
Allah  il  Allah!     Oo-aye!     Amen! 

The  country's  so  dry  in  Jou-jou  land 
You  could  wet  it  down  with  Sahara 

sand, 

And  over  its  boundaries  the  air 
Is  hotter  than  'tis — no  matter  where : 
A  camel  drops  down  completely  tanned 
When  he  crosses  the  line  into  Jou-jou 

land — 
If  things  are  nowadays  as  things  were 

then. 
Allah  il  Allah!    Oo-aye!    Amen! 

A  traveller  once  got  stuck  in  the  sand 
On  the  fiery  edge  of  Jou-jou  land; 
The  Jou-jous  they  confiscated  him, 
And  the  Jim- jam  tore  him  limb  from 

limb; 

But,  dying,  he  said:  "If  eaten  I  am, 
I'll  disagree  with  this  Dam-jim-jam! 
He'll  think  his  stomach's  a  Hoodoo's 

den!" 
Allah  il  Allah!     Oo-aye!    Amen! 

Then  the  Jim-jam  felt  so  bad  inside, 
It  just  about  humbled  his  royal  pride. 
He    decided    to    physic   himself   with 

sand, 
And  throw  up  his  job  in  the  Jou-jou 

land. 


He   descended   his   throne  of  red-hot 

rocks, 

And  hired  a  barber  to  cut  his  locks  5 
The  barber  died  of  the  got-'em-again. 
Allah  il  Allah!     Oo-aye!    Amen! 

And  now  let  every  good  Mussulman 
Get  all  the  good  from  this  tale  he  can. 
If  you  wander  off  on  a  jamboree, 
Across  the  stretch  of  the  desert  sea, 
Look  out  that  right  at  the  height  of 

your  booze 
You  don't  get  caught  by  the  Jou-jou- 

jous ! 

You  may,  for  the  Jim- jam's  at  it  again. 
Allah  il  Allah!     Oo-aye!    Amenf 
ALARIC  BERTRAND  STUART. 

Queer,    what    a    fascination    these 
tropic  countries  have  for  us  all. 


"LEPIDOPTERA" 

"Polite,  polygamous  poltroon,  'twas 
but  his  retrograde; 

Barbel  he  was,  yet  barracoon,  this  lim- 
ner of  Schlazade. 

He  spoke  a  scumbled  scuppernong,  a 
scutiform  corymb — 

Too  late,  his  pride  to  seep  along,  too 
late,  indeed,  for  him. 

"To  outward  view  conterminous,  to  in- 
ward view  adept, 

His  obfuscation  verminous  myopic  as 
he  wept — 

Too  late,  a  gudgeon  though  it  were,  in 
sesquiserried  void 

Might  elevate  his  soul  to  her,  his 
chrysoberyloid !" 

GERALD  MTGATT. 

He  said  he  wrote  it  just  to  prove 
how  easy  it  is  to  write. 


60 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


FAITHLESS  SALLY  BEOWN 

Young  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 

A  carpenter  by  trade ; 
And  he  fell  in  love  with  Sally  Brown, 

That  was  a  lady's  maid. 

But  as  they  fetched  a  walk  one  day, 
They  met  a  press-gang  crew; 

And  Sally  she  did  faint  away, 
Whilst  Ben  he  was  brought  to. 

The    boatswain    swore    with    wicked 
words, 

Enough  to  shock  a  saint, 
That  though  she  did  seem  in  a  fit, 

'Twas  nothing  but  a  feint. 

"Come,  girl,"  said  he,  "hold  up  your 
head, 

He'll  be  as  good  as  me; 
For  when  your  swain  is  in  our  boat, 

A  boatswain  he  will  be." 

So  when  they'd  made  their  game  of  her. 

And  taken  off  her  elf, 
She  roused,  and  found  she  only  was 

A-coming  to  herself. 

"And  is  he  gone,  and  is  he  gone?" 
She  cried,  and  wept  outright: 

"Then  I  will  to  the  water's  side, 
And  see  him  out  of  sight." 

A  waterman  came  up  to  her, 
"Now,  young  woman,"  said  he, 

"If  you  weep  on  so,  you  will  make 
Eye- water  in  the  sea." 

"Alas!  they've  taken  my  beau  Ben 

To  sail  with  old  Benbow;" 
And  her  woe  began  to  run  afresh, 

As  if  she'd  said  Gee  woe ! 

Says  he,  "They've  only  taken  him 
To  the  Tender  ship,  you  see." 


"The  Tender  ship,"  cried  Sally  Brown, 
"What  a  hardship  that  must  be! 

"Oh!  would  I  were  a  mermaid  now, 

For  then  I'd  follow  him; 
But  oh! — I'm  not  a  fish- woman, 

And  so  I  cannot  swim. 

"Alas !  I  was  not  born  beneath 
The  Virgin  and  the  Scales, 

So  I  must  curse  my  cruel  stars, 
And  walk  about  in  Wales." 

Now  Ben  had  sailed  to  many  a  place, 
That's  underneath  the  world; 

But  in  two  years  the  ship  came  home, 
And  all  her  sails  were  furled. 

But  when  he  called  on  Sally  Brown, 

To  see  how  she  went  on, 
He  found  she'd  got  another  Ben, 

Whose  Christian  name  was  John. 

"0   Sally  Brown,  0  Sally  Brown, 
How  could  you  serve  me  so? 

I've  met  with  many  a  breeze  before, 
But  never  such  a  blow." 

Then  reading  on  his  'bacco  box, 

He  heaved  a  bitter  sigh, 
And  then  began  to  eye  his  pipe, 

And  then  to  pipe  his  eye. 

And  then  he  tried  to  sing  "All's  Well," 
But  could  not  though  he  tried; 

His  head  was  turned,  and  so  he  chewed 
His  pigtail  till  he  died. 

His  death,  which  happened  in  his  berth, 

At  forty-odd  befell: 
They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 

The  sexton  toll'd  the  bell. 

THOMAS  HOOD. 

Dear  old  Tom  Hood.     He  couldn't 
"help  it,  he  was  born  a  pundit. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


61 


VAMPIRES 


Large  Moiouiio 
Bough, 

A  Kc/g  oF  Beer, a  Wacf  of-  Qatn 
cf 

•me   s/ngmcr  in  <fbe 

Wilderness 

Wilderness  were  Rahwoy 


Poem  by  Eugene  R.  White. 
Picture  by  Dwight  R.  Collin, 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


FROM  THE  SANSCRIT  OF  MATABILIWAIJO. 

Wind !  a  word  with  thee !  them  goest  where  my  Well-Preserved  lies 
On  her  bed  of  bonny  briers  keeping  off  the  wicked  flies. 

Thou  shalt  know  her  by  th'-  aroma  of  her  bosom,  which  is  musk, 
And  her  ivories  that  glisten  like  an  elephantine  tusk. 

Seek  her  coral-guarded  tympanum  and  whisper  "Poppinjai !" 
And  (referring  to  her  lover)  kindly  add  "A-lal-lal-lai !" 

Breeze!  thou  knowest  my  condition;  state  it  broadly,  if  you  please, 
In  a  smattering  of  Indo-Turco-Perso-Japanese. 

Say  my  youth  is  flitting  freely,  and  before  the  season  goes 
From  the  garden  of  my  Tutsi  I  am  fain  to  pluck  a  rose. 

Tell  her  I'm  a  wanton  Sufi  (what  a  Sufi  really  is 

She  may  know,  perhaps — I  count  it  one  of  Allah's  mysteries). 

Fly,  0  blessed  Breeze,  and  hither  bring  me  back  the  net  result; 
Fly  as  flies  the  rude  mosquito  from  Abdullah's  catapult. 

Fly  as  flies  the  rusty  rickshaw  of  the  Kurumayasan, 

When  he  scents  a  Hippopotam  down  the  groves  of  Gulistan. 

Fly  and  call,  0  cull,  a  section  of  my  Pipkin's  purple  tress ; 

Thou  shalt  find  me  drinking  deeply  with  the  Lords  that  rule  the  mess ; 

Quaffing  mead  and  mighty  sodas  with  the  Johnis,  Lords  of  War, 
Talking  "jungle  in  the  gun-room"  underneath  the  deodar. 

Hoo  Tawa!    I  go  to  join  them;  he  that  cometh  late  is  curst, 
For  the  Lords  of  War  (by  Akbar)  have  a  most  amazing  thirst ! 

SIB  OWEN  SEAMAN. 
I  always  think  Sir  Owen  must  keep  a  valet  to  look  after  his  words. 


TO  A  PET  REPTILE 

Thank  you,  pretty  spotted  snake, 
Thus  to  as  your  mistress  try  me. 

What  a  charming  pet  you  make, 
Cold  and  creepy,  damp  and  slimy ! 

How  you  wriggle  up  my  sleeve. 
How  you  coil  around  my  shoulder 


Causing  visitors  to  leave 
Terrifying  each  beholder. 

Come,    then,    where    your    breakfast 

waits, 

Reptile  of  eccentric  habits; 
Come,  and  seal  the  several  fates 
Of  three  frogs  and  two  plump  rab- 
bits. 

The  eternal  Cleopatra  in  women! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


63 


BETWEEN  THE  SUNSET  AND 
THE  SEA 

Between  the  gatepost  and  the  gate 
I  lingered  with  my  love  till  late; 
And  what  cared  I  for  time  of  night 
Till  wakened  by  the  watchdog's  bite, 
And  thud  of  leathering  boxtoed  fate 
Between  the  gatepost  and  the  gate. 

Between  the  seaside  and  the  sea 
I  kissed  my  love  and  she  kissed  me; 
But    rapturous    day    was    grewsome 

night, 

And  what  is  love  but  bloom  and  blight? 
And  what  is  kiss  of  mine  to  thee 
Between  the  seaside  and  the  sea? 


Between  the  sunshine  and  the  sun 
I  saw  a  face  that  hinted  fun; 
But  what  is  fun  and  what  is  face 
When  driven  at  life's  killing  pace? 
I  simply  say  that  I  have  none 
Between  the  sunshine  and  the  sun. 


Between  the  bumble  and  the  bee, 
Full  many  a  soul  has  had  to  flee; 
And  what  is  love,  may  I  inquire, 
When  asked  to  build  the  kitchen  fire? 
Or  who  would  not  leap  in  the  sea 
Between  the  bumble  and  the  bee? 


Between  the  teastore  and  the  tea 
There  is  a  wide  immensity; 
A  dollar  twenty-five  a  pound 
And  not  a  nickel  to  be  found; 
Then  what  has  fate  in  store  for  thee 
Between  the  teastore  and  the  tea? 

E.  W.  ANSWELL. 


Aught  in  this  rhythm  always  seems 
A  perfect  poem  of  fair  dreams. 


LORD  GUY 

When  swallows  Northward  flew 
Forth  from  his  home  did  fare 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

Swore  he  to  cross  the  brine, 
Pausing  not,  night  nor  day, 
That  he  might  Paynims  slay 
In  Palestine. 

Half  a  league  on  his  way 
Met  he  a  shepherdess 
Beaming  with  loveliness — 
Fair  as  Young  Day. 

Gazed  he  in  eyes  of  blue — 
Saw  love  in  hiding  there 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

"Let  the  foul  Paynim  wait !" 
Plead  Love,  "and  stay  with  me. 
Cruel  and  cold  the  sea — 

Here's  brighter  fate." 

When  swallows  Southward  flew 
Back  to  his  home  did  fare 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

Led  he  his  charger  gay 
Bearing  a  shepherdess 
Beaming  with  happiness — 
Fair  as  Young  Day. 

White  lambs,  be-ribboned  blue — > 
Tends  now  with  anxious  care, 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

GEORGE  F.  WARREN. 
Oh,  Man! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


BUYABAROM!  BUYABAROM! 

And  If  You  Want  Any  Weather  Make  It 
at  Home 

"What's  that  which  blows  across  the 
sky?"  said  the  Bureau-on-Parade.  "It 
is  a  cloud,  it  is  a  cloud,"  the  Chief 
Forecaster  said.  "And  shall  we  signal 
'watch  for  storms"?"  said  the  Bureau- 
on-Parade.  "Hell,  no;  just  hang  out 
'weather  fair,' "  the  Chief  Forecaster 
said.  For  they're  guessing  at  the 
weather,  cold  or  sultry,  cool  or  hot, 
just  jab  your  pencil  anywhere  and 
you'll  strike  it,  like  as  not.  Just  swing 
the  old  barometer,  you'll  get  a  reading 
— what?  They're  guessing  at  the 
weather  in  the  morning. 

"And  what's  the  tube  a-reading 
now?"  said  the  Bureau-on-Parade. 
"It's  not  for  publication — sure?"  the 
Chief  Forecaster  said. 

"No,  honest  Injun,  cross  my  heart," 
said  the  Bureau-on-Parade.  "It's 
thirty,  twenty-nine,  point,  six,"  the 
Chief  Forecaster  said.  For  they're 
guessing  at  the  weather  and  they're 
guessing  deep  and  hard.  Twice  seven 
minions  stand  the  old  barometer  to 
guard,  for  its  deep  and  fateful  reading 
is  a  secret  on  the  card  while  they're 
guessing  at  the  weather  in  the  morning. 

"Who's  that  who  glowers  by  the 
door?"  said  the  Bureau-on-Parade. 
"He  represents  the  public  press,"  the 
Chief  Forecaster  said.  "And  shall  we 
give  the  readings  out?"  said  the  Bu- 
reau-on-Parade. "Say,  do  you  want  to 
spoil  the  snap?"  the  Chief  Forecaster 
said.  For  they're  guessing  at  the 
weather,  you  can  hear  the  brain  wells 
go,  and  there's  the  old  barometer  a- 
reading  "High"  and  "Low,"  but  if  the 
public  saw  it  then  the  public  sure 
would  know  how  they're  guessing  at 
the  weather  in  the  morning. 

FRANK  O'MALLEY. 

The  man  who  put  the  meter  in  ba- 
rometer. 


A  STRIKE  AMONG  THE  POETS 

[Conspicuous  among  the  few  British 
industries  that  have  not  "come  out"  re- 
cently are  the  ballad  makers.  But  there 
are  signs  of  trouble  even  there.] 

In  his  chamber,  weak  and  dying, 
While  the  Norman  Baron  lay, 

Loud,  without,   his  men   were  crying, 
"Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

Know  you  why  the  ploughman,  fret- 
ting, 

Homeward  plods  his  weary  way 
Ere  his  time?     He's  after  getting 

Shorter  hours  and  better  pay. 

See !  the  Hesperus  is  swinging 

Idle  in  the  wintry  bay, 
And  the  skipper's  daughter's  singing, 

"Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

Where's  the  minstrel  boy?   I've  found 
him 

Joining  in  the  labour  fray 
With  his  placards  slung  around  him, 

"Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  coming; 

Though  his  hair  is  getting  grey, 
Yet  I'm  glad  to  hear  him  humming, 

"Shorter  hours   and  better  pay." 

E'en  the  boy  upon  the  burning 
Deck  has  got  a  word  to  say, 

Something  rather  cross  concerning 
Shorter  hours  and  better  pay. 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  as  much  as  they, 

Work  no  more,  until  they  find  us 
Shorter  hours  and  better  pay. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit!     (Shelley) 
Wilt  thou  be  a  blackleg?    Nay. 

Soaring,  sing  above  the  melee, 
"Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

—From  PUNCH. 

These  things  are  not  so  easy  as  they 
look. 


By  Gilbert  White 
A  MERE  MAN 

Though  now  he  has  gone  to  France  to  fight, 
An  all-round  genius  is  Gilbert  White; 
Equaled  by  none,  surpassed  by  few, 
This  portrait  is  of  him  and  by  him  too. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


65 


THE   CANNY   CROCODILE 

There  once  was  a  crocodile,  old  and 
stout, 

And  a  trifle  clumsy  at  getting  about; 

He  was  chiefly  found  in  the  River 
Nile— 

This  lumbersome,  cumbersome  croco- 
dile. 


Sometimes  all  day  on  the  sand  he'd  lie, 
And  deeply  and  thoughtfully  wonder 

why. 
Then   he'd   smile   a   slow,   inscrutable 

smile — 
This  emotional,  notional  crocodile. 


If  a  friend  came  by  for  a  cosy  chat, 
He  would  noisily  argue  on  this  or  that. 
His  opponent's  opinions  he  would  re- 
vile— 
This  babbling,  scrabbling  crocodile. 


Sometimes  he  would  stand  up  on  the 

shore, 
And  declaim  in  a  voice  like  the  ocean's 

roar. 
His  sonorous  speech  could  be  heard  a 

mile — 
This  wonderful,  thunderf ul  crocodile. 

You  see,  by  his  crafty  and  subtle  art, 
He  made  people  believe  he  was  clever 

and  smart. 
They  praised  his  wisdom,  his  speech, 

his  style — 
This  notable,  quotable  crocodile ! 


The  only  page  suggestive  of  tears  in 
this  whole  book. 


THE  PRODIGAL  EGG 

An  egg  of  humble  sphere 
By  vain  ambition  stung, 

Once  left  his  mother  dear 
When  he  was  very  young. 

'Tis  needless  to  dilate 

Upon  a  tale  so  sad; 
The  egg,  I  grieve  to  state, 

Grew  very,  very  bad. 

At  last  when  old  and  blue, 
He  wandered  home,  and  then 

They  gently  broke  it  to 
The  loving  mother  hen. 

She  only  said,  in  fun, 

"I  fear  you're  spoiled,  my  son !" 


That  Mother-love! 


A  GRAIN  OF  SALT 

Of  all  the  wimming  doubly  blest 
The  sailor's  wife's  the  happiest, 
For  all  she  does  is  stay  to  home 
And   knit    and    darn — and   let    'im 
roam. 


Of  all  the  husbands  on  the  earth 
The  sailor  has  the  finest  berth, 
For  in  'is  cabin  he  can  sit 
And  sail  and  sail — and  let  'er  knit. 
WALLACE  IRWIN. 


And  yet,  sometimes  we  see  a  simple 
civilian  usurping  the  sailor's  preroga- 
tive. 


66 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


MOTHERHOOD 

She  laid  it  where  the  sunbeams  fall 
Unscann'd  upon  the  broken  wall. 
Without  a  tear,  without  a  groan, 
She  laid  it  near  a  mighty  stone, 
Which  some  rude  swain  had  haply  cast 
Thither  in  sport,  long  ages  past, 
And  Time  with  mosses  had  o'erlaid, 
And  fenced  with  many  a  tall  grass- 
blade, 

And  all  about  bid  roses  bloom 
And  violets  shed  their  soft  perfume. 
There,  in  its  cool  and  quiet  bed, 
She  set  her  burden  down  and  fled: 
Nor  flung,  all  eager  to  escape, 
One  glance  upon  the  perfect  shape, 
That  lay,  still  warm  and  fresh  and  fair, 
But  motionless  and  soundless  there. 

No  human  eye  had  mark'd  her  pass 
Across  the  linden-shadow'd  grass 
Ere  yet  the  minster  clock  chimed  seven : 
Only  the  innocent  birds  of  heaven — 
The  magpie,  and  the  rook  whose  nest 
Swings    as    the    elm-tree    waves    his 

crest — 

And  the  lithe  cricket,  and  the  hoar 
And  huge-limb'd  hound  that  guards  the 

door, 

Look'd  on  when,  as  a  summer  wind 
That,  passing,  leaves  no  trace  behind, 
All  unapparell'd,  barefoot  all, 
She  ran  to  that  old  ruin'd  wall, 
To  leave  upon  the  chill  dank  earth 
(For  ah!  she  never  knew  its  worth) 
'Mid  hemlock  rank,  and  fern,  and  ling, 
And  dews  of  night,  that  precious  thing ! 

And  there  it  might  have  lain  forlorn 
From  morn  till  eve,  from  eve  to  morn : 
But  that,  by  some  wild  impulse  led, 
The  mother,  ere  she  turn'd  and  fled, 
One  moment  stood  erect  and  high; 
Then  pour'd  into  the  silent  sky 
A  cry  so  jubilant,  so  strange, 
That  Alice — as  she  strove  to  range 


Her  rebel  ringlets  at  her  glass — 
Sprang  up,  and  gazed  across  the  grass ; 
Shook  back  those  curls  so  fair  to  see, 
Clapp'd  her  soft  hands  in  childish  glee, 
And  shriek'd — her  sweet  face  all  aglow, 
Her  very  limbs  with  rapture  shak- 
ing— 

"My  hen  has  laid  an  egg,  I  know; 
And  only  hear  the  noise  she's  mak- 
ing!" 

CHARLES  STUART  CALVERLEY. 

A  little  hen-minded? 
SONNET  FOR  A  PICTURE 

That  nose  is  out  of  drawing.    With  a 

gasp, 
She  pants  upon  the  passionate  lips 

that  ache 
With    the   red    drain    of   her    own 

mouth,  and  make 

A  monochord  of  colour.    Like  an  asp, 
One  lithe  lock  wriggles  in  his  rutilant 

grasp, 
Her  bosom  is  an  oven  of  myrrh,  to 

bake 
Love's  warm  white  shewbread  to  a 

browner  cake. 
The  lock  his  fingers  clench  has  burst  its 

hasp. 

The  legs  are  absolutely  abominable. 
Ah !  what  keen  overgust  of  wild-eyed 

woes 
Flags  in  that  bosom,  flushes  in  that 

nose? 
Nay!    Death  sets  riddles  for  desire  to 

spell, 
Responsive.     What  red  hem  earth's 

passion  sews, 

But   may   be  ravenously  unripped    in 
hell?  A.  C.  SWINBURNE. 

Compared  to  this  conception,  the 
Futurist  paintings  look  like  weak  tea 
with  milk  in  it. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


67 


OUR  DUMB   FRIENDS 

Reformers,  wake!    A  crying  wrong 
Has  been  permitted  overlong! 
And  wanton  cruelty  hides  behind 
A  so-called  "service  to  mankind." 

Ah,  save  dumb  vegetables'  life 
From  the  too  eager  kitchen-knife. 
Their  fate  contributes  not  a  bit 
To  "scientific  benefit." 

What  torture  must  a  cabbage  feel 
As  nearer  comes  the  glittering  steel! 
And  pierces,  with  a  fiendish  art, 
Straight  to  the  tender,  quivering  heart ! 

Potatoes  suffer  without  doubt 

When   ruthless   hands   their  eyes   cut 

out! 

Say,  does  it  aid  our  humankind 
When  these  dumb  creatures  are  made 

blind? 

Again  they  wreak  their  horrid  will, 
Furthering    (they    say)     the    aurist's 

skill. 

Its  dumb  appeal  they  treat  with  scorn, 
And  cut  the  ears  from  living  corn ! 

These   awful   truths   should   make   us 

pause 

And  reconstruct  our  country's  laws; 
With  righteous  wrath  our  blood  should 

boil 
At  martyred  victims  of  the  soil. 

Oh,  Anti-Vivisectionist, 

This    portion    of    your    work    you've 

missed ! 

And  your  success  is  but  defeat 
If  man  may  flay  a  living  beet ! 


8.  P.  C.  V.  attention! 


HE  LOVES  A  POSTER  GIRL 

She  was  a  Poster,  so  new  and  so  sweet, 

And  I  a  pedestrian; 
She  sat  on  the  grass,  with  six  toes  on 

her  feet, 

Alas!  for  my  sorrow  began. 
For  she  ogled  at  me  with  a  crimson 

leer, 

And  her  nose  was  so  blue,  ah,  yes. 
Her  dress  was  transparent,  her  joints 

very  queer, 
But,  ah,  did  I  love  her  the  less? 

Refrain:  (con  espressione) 
Ah,  never,  no,  never  no  more 
Shall  I  know  of  sweet  peace, 

alas. 
For   my    love   is    a   girl    of   the 

primary  tints, 
And  she  sits  on  the  purple  grass. 

The  sky  at  her  back  was  magenta  and 

slate, 

And  the  sun  a  delicate  grey; 
She  was  washing  herself,  I  am  able  to 

state, 

With  Somebody's  Soap  all  the  day. 
Her  arms  were  too  long,  and  her  nose 

too  short, 

Her  perspective  is  wrong,  I  confess; 
There  was   mud   in   her  eye  from   a 

small  boy's  sport, 
But,  ah,  did  I  love  her  the  less? 

Refrain:  (more  than  ever] 
Ah,  never,  no,  never  no  more 

Will  she  set  my  heart  in  a  whirl, 
For  they've  covered  her  up  with  a 

Bovril  bill, 
My  beautiful  Poster  Girl! 


Were    Posters    the   forerunners    of 
Cubist  Pictures? 


68 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


HIS  MOTHER-IN-LAW 

He  stood  on  his  head  by  the  wild  sea- 
shore, 

And  danced  on  his  hands  a  jig; 
In  all  his  emotions,  as  never  before, 

A  wildly  hilarious  grig. 


And  why?    In  that  ship  just  crossing 
the  bay 

His  mother-in-law  had  sailed 
For  a  tropical  country  far  away, 

Where  tigers  and  fever  prevailed. 

Oh,  now  he  might  hope  for  a  peaceful 

life 

And  even  be  happy  yet, 
Though  owning  no  end  of  neuralgic 

wife, 
And  up  to  his  collar  in  debt. 


He  had  borne  the  old  lady  through 

thick  and  thin, 

And  she  lectured  him  out  of  breath; 
And  now  as  he  looked  at  the  ship  she 

was  in 
He  howled  for  her  violent  death. 


He  watched  as  the  good  ship  cut  the 

sea, 

And  bumpishly  up-and-downed, 
And  thought  if  already  she  qualmish 

might  be, 
He'd  consider  his  happiness  crowned. 


He  watched  till  beneath  the  horizon's 

edge 

The  ship  was  passing  from  view; 
And  he  sprang  to  the  top  of  a  rocky 

ledge 
And  pranced  like  a  kangaroo. 


He  watched  till  the  vessel  became  a 

speck 

That  was  lost  in  the  wandering  sea; 
And  then,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  his 

neck, 
Turned  somersaults  home  to  tea. 

Of    course,    the    reference    to    the 
mother-in-law  is  a  joke. 

BYGONES 

Or  ever  a  lick  of  Art  was  done, 

Or  ever  a  one  to  care, 
I  was  a  Purple  Polygon, 

And  you  were  a  Sky-Blue  Square. 

You  yearned  for  me  across  a  void, 
For  I  lay  in  a  different  plane, 

I'd  set  my  heart  on  a  Red  Rhom&owZ, 
And  your  sighing  was  in  vain. 

You  pined  for  me  as  well  I  knew, 
And  you  faded  day  by  day, 

Until  the   Square   that  was  heavenly 

Blue, 
Had  paled  to  an  ashen  grey. 

A  myriad  years  or  less  or  more, 

Have  softly  fluttered  by, 
Matters  are  much  as  they  were  before. 

Except  'tis  I  that  sigh. 

I  yearn  for  you,  but  I  have  no  chance, 
You  lie  in  a  different  plane, 

I  break  my  heart  for  a  single  glance, 
And  I  break  said  heart  in  vain. 

And  ever  I  grow  more  pale  and  wan, 
And  taste  your  old  despair, 

When  I  was  a  Purple  Polygon, 
And  you  were  a  Sky-Blue  Square. 
BERT  LESTON  TAYLOR. 

And  yet  some  people  don't  believe  in 
transmigration  of  souls. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


69 


THE  HEN-ROOST  MAN 

De  Hen-roost  l^lan  he'll  preach  about  Paul, 
An'  James  an'  John,  an'  Herod,  an'  all. 
But  nuver  a  word  about  Peter,  oh,  no! 
He's  afeard  he'll  hear  dat  rooster  crow. 

An'  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat,  in  'dat — 
An'  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat. 


RUTH  McENEEY  STUABT. 


70 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  VIPER 

Yet  another  great  truth  I  record  in  my 

verse, 
That  some  Vipers  are  venomous,  some 

the  reverse; 

A  fact  you  may  prove  if  you  try, 
By  procuring  two  Vipers  and  letting 

them  bite; 
With  the  first  you  are  only  the  worse 

for  a  fright, 
But  after  the  second  you  die. 

HILAIBE  BELLOC. 

The  old  game  of  Perhaps. 


MANUAL  OF  MANNERS  FOR 
YOUNG  ANIMALS 

Dear  Little  Tiger,  it  is  rude 

To  growl  and  grumble  at  your  food; 
So  learn  this  lesson,  I  implore  you, — 

Always  to  eat  what's  placed  before 
you. 

Dear  Little  Whale,  let  me  entreat 
That  you  will  keep  quite  clean  and 
neat; 

Pray  do  not  storm  and  rage  with  wrath 
When  you  are  told  to  take  a  bath. 

Dear  Little  Owl,  try  to  be  good 

And  mind  your  mother  as  you 
should ; 

With  cheerful  smile  forsake  your  play 
When  sent  to  take  a  nap  each  day. 

Dear  Little  Bear,  affectionate  be 
Toward  all  the  people  that  you  see; 

Heed  not  their  cold  and  haughty  shrugs 
But  greet  them  with  endearing  hugs. 

My  Dear  Hyena,  your  sweet  smile 
Proves  that  you  have  no  thought  of 
guile; 


But  when  you  meet  a  timid  man 
Pray  laugh  as  little  as  you  can. 


Dear  Little  Leopard,  have  you  tried 
To  clean  those  spots  from  off  your 
hide? 

If  soap  and  sand  will  not  succeed, 
Then  gasoline  is  what  you  need. 


Near  to  Nature's  heart. 


\\x  \ 


\ 


\ 


\ 


THE  LEARNED  FISH 

This  learned   Fish   has   not   sufficient 

brains 
To  go  into  the  water  when  it  rains. 

HILAIRE  BELLOC. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


71 


I  wish  that  my  Room  had  a  Floor! 
I  don't  so  Much  Care  for  a  Door, 
But  this  Crawling  Around 


Without  Touching  the  Ground 
Is  Getting  to  be  Quite  a  Bore! 

GELETT  BUUUESS. 


72  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


COPY  OF  APPLICATION  FOR  INSURANCE 

IN  THE 

Execrable  Life  Insurance  Company  of  New  York 

Note  to  Applicant:  Answer  the  following  questions  without  hesitation  or 
embarrassment.  All  disclosures  will  be  treated  by  the  Company  as  strictly  con- 
fidential. 

1.  A.  Give  your  right  name,  and  your  latest  measurements  by  the  Bertillon 

system. 

B.  What  do  you  do  for  a  living? 

C.  Where  do  you  do  it? 

D.  Are  you  in  business  for  your  health,  or  only  to  escape  your  wife's  "At 

homes"? 

E.  Have  you  ever  failed?    If  so,  how  much  did  it  net  you? 

2.  A.  Where  were  you  born? 
If  so,  why? 

3.  A.  Are  you  married,  single  or  a  widower? 

B.  Was  it  an  accident? 

C.  And  are  you  happy? 

4.  State,  as  far  as  your  intelligence  permits,  the  following  facts  about  your 

ancestors : 

A.  Age  and  state  of  health,  if  living,  or  cause,  how  long  sick,  and  age 

at  death  of  your  Father's  step-servant? 

B.  Of  your  Mother's  Half -toned  Stranger-in-law  ? 

C.  Outline,  in  substance,  your  Father's  father's  habits  in  infancy,  youth 

and  middle  age,  with  names  of  his  friends,  physicians  and  cred- 
itors divring  that  time. 

D.  Give,  in  full,  your  Mother's  grand-aunt's  occupation,  accomplish- 

ments, physical  condition  and  mental  tendencies,  with  complete 
list  of  ailments  from  time  of  birth  to  death. 


5.  A.  How  many  full  brothers  have  you  had? 

B.  Were  you  responsible  for  their  condition? 

C.  How  many  volunteer  sisters  did  you  have,  before  you  finally  got  a 

wife? 

6.  A.  Are  you  enjoying  good  health? 

B.  If  not,  what  do  you  enjoy? 

C.  Have  you  been  successfully  vaccinated,  cauterised,  sterilised,  sprayed, 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  73 


ventilated,  disinfected,  washed,  dried,  combed,  swept,  dusted,  fu- 
migated, shampooed  and  deodorised? 
D.  Did  it  hurt? 

7.  A.  Have  you  called  in  your  family  physician  within  a  year? 

B.  If  not,  how  much  do  you  owe  him  on  the  old  account? 

C.  Have  you  ever  been  advised  by  a  physician — or  the  police — to  try  a 

change  of  climate  to  benefit  your  health? 

D.  Has  any  competent  examiner — other  than  a  bar-tender — ever  given 

an  unfavourable  opinion  of  your  physical  condition? 

8.  A.  Have  you  Pickled  Feet,  Housemaid's  Knee  or  Falling  of  the  Face  at 

this  writing? 

B.  If  so,  are  you  wearing  ear-tabs  and  union  underwear? 

C.  Do  you  agree  to  wear  them  while  insured  in  this  company? 

9.  A.  Do  you  use  intoxicating  liquors? 

B.  If  so,  state  your  favourite,  with  directions  for  mixing  same,  for  the 
use  of  our  President  when  he  gets  your  first  premium. 

10.  A.  Have  you  ever  used,  as  narcotics,  Opium,  Morphia,  Chloral,  Sapolio, 

Grape-Nuts,  Tabasco  or  Listerine,  unless  prescribed  by  a  magazine 
or  other  competent  practitioner? 

11.  How's  your  liver? 

It  is  hereby  agreed:  That  all  the  foregoing  statements  and  answers,  made 

to  the  Company's  Medical  Examiner,  are  the  truth,  the  whole  truth  and  nothing 
but  the  truth,  so  help  me  Sarah ! 
Witnessed  by  the  Examiner, 

(Signature  of  the  person  to  be  insured) 

GIDEON  WURDZ. 
No,  this  is  not  our  Home  Towne.  (Charles  Wayland  Towne.) 


74  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


CAUTIONARY  VERSES 

My  little  dears,  who  learn  to  read,  pray  early,  learn  to  shun 
That  very  silly  thing  indeed  which  people  call  a  pun; 
Read  Entiek's  rules,  and  'twill  be  found  how  simple  an  offence 
It  is  to  make  the  selfsame  sound  afford  a  double  sense. 

For  instance,  ale  may  make  you  ail,  your  aunt  an  ant  may  kill, 
You  in  a  vale  may  buy  a  veil  and  Bill  may  pay  the  bill. 
Or  if  to  France  your  bark  you  steer,  at  Dover  it  may  be 
A  peer  appears  upon  the  pier,  who  blind,  still  goes  to  sea. 

Thus,  one  might  say,  when,  to  a  treat,  good  friends  accept  our  greeting, 
'Tis  meet  that  men  who  meet  to  eat  should  eat  their  meat  when  meeting; 
Brawn  on  the  board's  no  bore  indeed,  although  from  boar  prepared; 
Nor  can  the  fowl  on  which  we  feed,  foul  feeding  be  declared. 

Thus  one  ripe  fruit  may  be  a  pear,  and  yet  be  pared  again, 
And  still  be  one,  which  seemeth  rare  until  we  do  explain. 
It  therefore  should  be  all  your  aim  to  speak  with  ample  care, 
For  who,  however  fond  of  game,  would  choose  to  swallow  hair? 

A  fat  man's  gait  may  make  us  smile,  who  have  no  gate  to  close  j 
The  farmer  sitting  on  his  stile  no  stylish  person  knows. 
Perfumers  men  of  scents  must  be ;  some  Scilly  men  are  bright ; 
A  brown  man  oft  deep  read  we  see,  a  black  a  wicked  wight. 

Most  wealthy  men  good  manors  have,  however  vulgar  they; 

And  actors  still  the  harder  slave  the  oftener  they  play; 

So  poets  can't  the  baize  obtain,  unless  their  tailors  choose; 

While  grooms  and  coachmen,  not  in  vain,  each  evening  seek  the  Mews. 

The  dyer,  who  by  dyeing  lives,  a  dire  life  maintains; 
The  glazier,  it  is  known,  receives  his  profits  for  his  panes/ 
By  gardeners  thyme  is  tied,  'tis  true,  when  spring  is  in  its  prime, 
But  time  or  tide  won't  wait  for  you  if  you  are  tied  for  time. 

Then  now  you  see,  my  little  dears,  the  way  to  make  a  pun; 
A  trick  which  you,  through  coming  years,  should  sedulously  shun; 
The  fault  admits  of  no  defence;  for  wheresoe'er  'tis  found, 
You  sacrifice  for  sound  the  sense;  the  sense  is  never  sound. 

So  let  your  words  and  actions  too,  one  single  meaning  prove, 
And,  just  in  all  you  say  or  do,  you'll  gain  esteem  and  love; 
In  mirth  and  play  no  harm  you'll  know  when  duty's  task  is  done, 
But  parents  ne'er  should  let  you  go  unpunished  for  a  pun ! 

THEODORE  HOOK, 
For  parlor  recitation. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


75 


GOOD  JAMES  AND  NAUGHTY  REGINALD 

Once  upon  a  Time  there  was  a  Bad  boy  whose  Name  was  Reginald  and  there 
was  a  Good  boy  whose  Name  was  James.  Reginald  would  go  Fishing  when  his 
Mamma  told  him  Not  to,  and  he  Cut  off  the  Cat's  Tail  with  the  Bread  Knife 
one  Day,  and  then  told  Mamma  the  Baby  had  Driven  it  in  with  the  Rolling 
Pin,  which  was  a  Lie.  James  was  always  Obedient,  and  when  his  Mamma  told 
him  not  to  Help  an  old  Blind  Man  across  the  street  or  Go  into  a  Dark  Room 
where  the  Boogies  were,  he  always  Did  What  She  said.  That  is  why  they 
Called  him  Good  James.  Well,  by  and  by,  along  Came  Christmas.  Mamma 


said,  You  have  been 
Reginald,  you  will 
ents  from  Santa 
but  you,  my  Son 
Oodles  of  Presents, 
Been  Good.  Will 
Children,  that  Bad 
he  didn't  C  a  r  e  a 
Kicked  three  Feet 
the  Piano  just  for 
James  was  so  sorry 
he  cried  for  Half 
Went  to  Bed  that 
lay  wide  Awake  un- 
was  Asleep  and 
these  people  think 
they  are  Mistaken. 


so  Bad,  my  son 
not  Get  any  Pres- 
Claus  this  Year; 
James,  will  get 
because  you  have 
you  Believe  it, 
boy  Reginald  said 
Darn  and  he 
of  Veneering  off 
Meanness.  Poor 
for  Reginald  that 
an  Hour  after  he 
Night.  Reginald 
til  he  s  a  w  James 
then  he  Said  if 
they  can  Fool  me, 
Just  then  Santa 


Clans  came  down  the  Chimney.  He  had  lots  of  Pretty  Toys  in  a  Sack  on  his 
Back.  Reginald  shut  his  Eyes  and  Pretended  to  be  Asleep.  Then  Santa  Claus 
Said,  Reginald  is  Bad  and  1  will  not  Put  any  nice  Things  in  his  Stocking.  But 
as  for  you,  James,  I  will  Fill  your  Stocking  Plumb  full  of  Toys,  because  You  are 
Good.  So  Santa  Claus  went  to  Work  and  Put,  Oh !  heaps  and  Heaps  of  Goodies  in 
James'  stocking  but  not  a  Sign  of  a  Thing  in  Reginald's  stocking.  And  then  he 
Laughed  to  himself  and  Said,  I  guess  Reginald  will  be  sorry  to-morrow  because 
he  Was  so  Bad.  As  he  said  this  he  Crawled  up  the  chimney  and  rode  off  in  his 
Sleigh.  Now  you  can  Bet  your  Boots  Reginald  was  no  Spring  Chicken.  He  just 
Got  right  Straight  out  of  Bed  and  changed  all  those  Toys  and  Truck  from  James' 
stocking  into  his  own.  Santa  Claus  will  Have  to  Sit  up  all  Night,  said  He,  when 
he  Expects  to  get  away  with  my  Baggage.  The  next  morning  James  got  out  of 
Bed  and  when  He  had  Said  his  Prayers  he  Limped  over  to  his  Stocking,  lick- 
ing his  chops  and  Carrying  his  Head  as  High  as  a  Bull  going  through  a  Brush 
Fence.  But  when  he  found  there  was  Nothing  in  his  stocking  and  that  Reginald's 
Stocking  was  as  Full  as  Papa  Is  when  he  -somes  home  Late  from  the  Office,  he 
Sat  down  on  the  Floor  and  began  to  Wonder  why  on  Earth  he  had  Been  such  a 
Good  boy.  Reginald  spent  a  Happy  Christmas  and  James  was  very  Miserable. 
After  all,  Children,  it  Pays  to  be  Bad,  so  Long  as  you  Combine  Intellect  with 
Crime.  EUGENE  FIELD. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


AEE  WOMEN  FAIR? 

"Are  women  fair?"    Ay,  wondrous  fair  to  see,  too. 
"Are  women  sweet  ?"    Yea,  passing  sweet  they  be,  too. 
Most  fair  and  sweet  to  them  that  only  love  them; 
Chaste  and  discreet  to  all  save  them  that  prove  them. 

"Are  women  wise?"    Not  wise,  but  they  be  witty; 
"Are  women  witty?"    Yea,  the  more  the  pity; 
They  are  so  witty,  and  in  wit  so  wily, 
Though  ye  be  ne'er  so  wise,  they  will  beguile  ye. 

"Are  women  fools?"    Not  fools,  but  fondlings  many; 
"Can  women  fond  be  faithful  unto  any?" 
When  snow-white  swans  do  turn  to  colour  sable, 
Then  women  fond  will  be  both  firm  and  stable. 

"Are  women  saints?"    No  saints,  nor  yet  no  devils; 
"Are  women  good?"    Not  good,  but  needful  evils. 
So  Angel-like,  that  devils  I  do  not  doubt  them, 
So  needful  evils  that  few  can  live  without  them. 

"Are  women  proud?"    Ay!  passing  proud,  an  praise  them. 
"Are  women  kind?"    Ay!  wondrous  kind,  an  please  them. 
Or  so  imperious,  no  man  can  endure  them, 
Or  so  kind-hearted,  any  may  procure  them. 

FRANCIS  DAVISON. 

Are  women  people? 


THE  PICKERLICK 

'''Tell  me,  oh,  Pickerlick,  that  'round  my  pathway  roars, 
Do  ye  not  know  some  way  to  pickle  cellar-doors? 
Or  tell  me,  if  you  please,  what  method  is  the  best 
To  make  a  Stilton  cheese  put  on  a  speckled  vest." 
The  Pickerlick  gnawed  at  a  piece  of  soap, 
And  sneezed  sedately  as  it  answered,  "Nope." 

"Tell  me,  oh,  Pickerlick,  prick  up  thine  hard-boiled  ears, 
Why  did  you  hang  salt  fish  on  the  chandeliers? 
Why  did  you  let  the  cat  wear  yellow  bombazine? 
And  offer  to  the  Duke  a  single  fried  sardine?" 
The  Pickerlick  extremely  winked  his  eye, 
And  in  a  minor  key  he  warbled  "Pie !" 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


77 


"Yet,  tell  me,  Pickerlick,  and  tell  me  quick, 
Why  do  you  write  your  letters  with  a  brick? 
Why  is  your  bonnet  made  of  Indian  meal? 
And  all  your  other  clothes  of  orange  peel?" 
The  Pickerlick  with  eelgrass  tied  his  shoe, 
And  wept  profusely  as  he  answered  "Boo!" 


Nonsense,  poor  and  simple. 


emerged  from  his. lair 
Jor  a  short  summer  cut  to  his  hair. 
J3ut  the3arber  he  wept ; 

'While  his  customers  slept 

,As  they  waited  their  turn  in  the  chair. 


78 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


OLD  GRIMES 

Old  Grimes  is  dead,  that  good  old  man, 
We  ne'er  shall  see  him  more; 

He  used  to  wear  a  long  black  coat 
All  buttoned  down  before. 

His  heart  was  open  as  the  day, 
His  feelings  all  were  true. 

His  hair  was  some  inclined  to  grey, 
He  wore  it  in  a  queue. 

Whene'er  he  heard  the  voice  of  pain, 
His  breast  with  pity  burned; 

The  large  round  head  upon  his  cane 
From  ivory  was  turned. 

Kind  words  he  ever  had  for  all, 

He  knew  no  base  design; 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  rather  small, 

His  nose  was  aquiline. 

He  lived  at  peace  with  all  mankind, 
In  friendship  he  was  true; 

His  coat  had  pocket-holes  behind, 
His  pantaloons  were  blue. 

Unharm'd,  the  sin  which  earth  pollutes 

He  pass'd  securely  o'er; 
And  never  wore  a  pair  of  boots 

For  thirty  years  or  more. 

But  good  old  Grimes  is  now  at  rest, 
Nor  fears  misfortune's  frown; 

He  wore  a  double-breasted  vest, 
The  stripes  ran  up  and  down. 

He  modest  merit  sought  to  find, 

And  pay  it  its  desert; 
He  had  no  malice  in  his  mind, 

No  ruffles  on  his  shirt. 

His  neighbours  he  did  not  abuse, — 

Was  sociable  and  gay; 
He  wore  large  buckles  on  his  shoes 

And  changed  them  every  day. 


His  knowledge,  hid  from  public  gaze, 
He  did  not  bring  to  view; 

Nor  made  a  noise,  town-meeting  days, 
As  many  people  do. 

His  worldly  goods  he  never  threw 
In  trust  to  fortune's  chances; 

But  lived  (as  all  his  brothers  do) 
In  easy  circumstances. 

Thus,  undisturbed  by  anxious  care 
His  peaceful  moments  ran; 

And  everybody  said  he  was 
A  fine  old  gentleman. 

ALBERT  GORTON  GREENE. 

Old,   but  good — both  the  man  and 
the  verses. 


ON  A  NANKIN  PLATE 

"Ah,  me,  but  it  might  have  been! 
Was  there  ever  so  dismal  a  fate?" — 
Quoth  the  little  blue  mandarin. 

"Such  a  maid  was  never  seen ! 

She  pass'd,  tho'  I  cried  to  her,  'Wait,' — 

Ah  me,  but  it  might  have  been! 

"I  cried,  '0  my  Flower,  My  Queen, 
Be  mine !'     'Twas  precipitate," — 
Quoth  the  little  blue  mandarin, — 

"But  then  .  .  .  she  was  just  sixteen, — 
Long-eyed, — as  a  lily  straight, — 
Ah  me,  but  it  might  have  been ! 

"As  it  was,  from  her  palankeen, 

She    laughed — 'You're    a    week    too 

late!'" 
(Quoth  the  little  blue  mandarin.) 

"That  is  why  in  a  mist  of  spleen, 
I  mourn  on  this  Nankin  Plate. 
Ah  me,  but  it  might  have  been  I" 
Quoth  the  little  blue  mandarin. 

AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

I  wish  he  had  told  more  about  her. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


79 


THE  LEARNED  NEGRO 

There  was  a  negro  preacher,  I  have 

heard, 
In    Southern    parts    before    rebellion 

stirred, 
Who   did   not   spend   his   strength   in 

empty  sound; 
His   was   a   mind   deep-reaching   and 

profound. 
Others  might  beat  the  air,  and  make  a 

noise, 
And  help  to  amuse  the  silly  girls  and 

boys; 
But   as   for  him   he  was   a  man   of 

thought, 

Deep  in  theology,  although  untaught. 
He  could  not  read  or  write,  but  he  was 

wise, 

And  knew  right  smart  how  to  extem- 
porise. 
One  Sunday  morn,  when  hymns  and 

prayers  were  said, 
The  preacher  rose,  and  rubbing  up  his 

head, 
"Bredren  and  sisterin,  and  companions 

dear, 
Our  preachment  to-day,  as  you  shall 

hear, 

Will  be  ob  de  creation, — ob  de  plan 
On  which  God  fashioned  Adam,  de  fust 

man. 
When  God  made  Adam,  in  de  ancient 

day, 
He  made  his  body  out  ob  earth  and 

clay, 
He  shape  him  all  out  right,  den  by  and 

by, 

He    set    him    up    agin    de    fence    to 

dry." 
"Stop,"  said  a  voice;  and  straightway 

there  uprose, 
An    ancient    negro    in    his    master's 

clothes. 
"Tell  me,"  said  he,  "before  you  farder 


One  little  thing  which  I  should  like  to 

know. 
It  does  not  quite  get  through  dis  nig- 

gar's  har, 
How  came  dat  fence  so  nice  and  handy 

dar?" 
Like  one  who  in  the  mud  is  tightly 

stuck, 

Or  one  nonplussed,  astonished,  thun- 
derstruck, 
The  preacher  looked  severely  on  the 

pews, 
And   rubbed   his   hair   to   know   what 

words  to  use: 
"Bredren,"  said  he,  "dis  word  I  hab  to 

say; 
De  preacher  can't  be  bothered  in  dis 

way; 

For,  if  he  is,  it's  jest  as  like  as  not, 
Our  whole  theology  will  be  upsot." 

Cun'n'  li'l  yarn. 

i 

GOING  WITH  THE  STREAM 

Upon  the  water  in  a  boat 
I  sit  and  sketch,  as  there  we  float, 
The  scene  is  fair,  the  sfream  is  strong, 
I  sketch  it  as  we  float  along. 

The  stream  is  strong,  and  as  I  sit 
And  view  the  picture  that  we  quit, 
It  flows,  and  flows,  and  bears  the  boat, 
And  I  sit  sketching  as  we  float. 

Still  as  we  go,  the  things  I  see, 
E'en  as  I  see  them,  cease  to  be, 
The  angles  shift,  and  with  the  boat 
The  whole  perspective  seems  to  float. 

Yet  still  I  look  and  still  I  sit 
Adjusting,  shaping,  altering  it; 
And  still  the  current  bears  the  boat, 
And  me,  still  sketching  as  I  float. 
ARTHUR  H.  CLOUGH. 

The    very   apotheosis    of   dolce   far 
niente, — if  you  know  what  I  mean. 


80 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


TO  THE  PLIOCENE  SKULL 

"Speak,  0  man  less  recent! 

Fragmentary  fossil! 
Primal  pioneer  of  pliocene  formation, 
Hid  in  lowest  drifts  below  the  earliest 
stratum 

Of  volcanic  tufa! 

"Older  than  the  beasts,  the  oldest  Pa- 
Ia3otherium ; 

Older  than  the  trees,  the  oldest  Crypto- 
gam!; 

Older  than   the  hills,  those  infantile 
eruptions 

Of  earth's  epidermis! 

"Eo — Mio — Plio — Whatsoe'er  the  'cene' 

was 
That  those  vacant  sockets  filled  with 

awe  and  wonder — 
Whether  shores  Devonian  or  Silurian 

benches — 

Tell  us  thy  strange  story! 

"Or  has  the  professor  slightly  ante- 
dated 

By  some  thousand  years  thy  advent  on 
this  planet, 

Giving  thee  an  air  that's  somewhat  bet- 
ter fitted 

For  cold-blooded  creatures? 

"Wert    thou    true    spectator    of    that 

mighty  forest 
When  above  thy  head  the  stately  Sigil- 

laria 
Reared   its  columned   trunks  in   that 

remote  and  distant 

Carboniferous  epoch? 

"Tell  us  of  that  scene — the  dim  and 

watery  woodland 
Songless,    silent,    hushed,    with   never 

bird  or  insect; 
Veiled    with    spreading    fronds    and 

screened  with  tall  club-mosses, 
Lycopodiacea, 


"When  beside  thee  walked  the  solemn 
Plesiosaurus, 

And  around  thee  crept  the  festive  Ich- 
thyosaurus, 

While  from  time  to  time  above  thee 
flew  and  circled 

Cheerful  Pterodactyls. 

"Tell  us  of  thy  food — those  half-marine 
refections, 

Crinoids  on  the  shell  and  brachipods  au 
naturel — 

Cuttle-fish  to  which  the  pieuvre  of  Vic- 
tor Hugo 

Seems  a  periwinkle. 

"Speak,    thou    awful    vestige    of    the 

earth's  creation, 

Solitary  fragment  of  remains  organic ! 
Tell  the  wondrous  secret  of  thy  past 

existence — 

Speak!  thou  oldest  primate!" 

Even  as  I  gazed,  a  thrill  of  the  maxilla, 
And  a  lateral  movement  of  the  condy- 

loid  process, 
With  post-pliocene  sounds  of  healthy 

mastication, 

Ground  the  teeth  together. 

And,  from  that  imperfect  dental  exhi- 
bition, 

Stained  with  expressed  juices  of  the 
weed  Nicotian, 

Came  these  hollow  accents,  blent  with 
softer  murmurs 

Of  expectoration : 

"Which  my  name  is  Bowers,  and  my 

crust  was  busted 
Falling   down    a    shaft   in    Calaveras 

county, 

But  I'd  take  it  kindly  if  you'd  send  the 
pieces 

Home  to  old  Missouri!" 

BRET  HABTB. 

Rather  up-to-date  for  so  long  ago. 


ANGLING  FOR   MERMAIDS 

Angling  for  mermaids, — always  choose 

With  greatest  care  the  bait  you  use; 

Try  beads  and  mirrors,  combs  and  shoes. 

But,  as  is  known  to  fishermen, — 

//  you  catch  some  too  small, — why  then 

You  have  to  throw  them  back  again. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


81 


ROBINSON  CRUSOE'S  STORY 

The  night  was  thick  and  hazy 
When  the  Piccadilly  Daisy 
Carried  down  the  crew  and  captain  in 

the  sea; 

And  I  think  the  water  drowned  'em, 
For  they  never,  never  found  'em, 
And  I  know  they  didn't  come  ashore 
with  me. 


Oh !  'twas  very  sad  and  lonely 

When  I  found  myself  the  only 
Population  on  this  cultivated  shore; 

But  I've  made  a  little  tavern 

In  a  rocky  little  cavern, 
And  I  sit  and  watch  for  people  at 
the  door. 


I  spent  no  time  in  looking 
For  a  girl  to  do  my  cooking, 
As  I'm  quite  a  clever  hand  at  making 

stews ; 

But  I  had  that  fellow  Friday 
Just  to  keep  the  tavern  tidy, 
And  to  put  a  Sunday  polish  on  my 
shoes. 


I  have  a  little  garden 
That  I'm  cultivating  lard  in, 

As  the  things  I  eat  are  rather  tough 

and  dry; 

For  I  live  on  toasted  lizards, 
Prickly  pears  and  parrot  gizzards, 

And  I'm  really  very  fond  of  beetle  pie. 


The  clothes  I  had  were  furry, 
And  it  made  me  fret  and  worry 

When  I  found  the  moths  were  eating 

off  the  hair; 

And  I  had  to  scrape  and  sand  'em, 
And  I  boiled  'em  and  I  tanned  'em, 

Tjll  I  got  the  fine  morocco  suit  I  wear. 


I  sometimes  seek  diversion 

In  a  family  excursion, 
With  the  few  domestic   animals  you 
see; 

And  we  take  along  a  carrot 

As  refreshment  for  the  parrot, 
And  a  little  can  of  jungleberry  tea. 

Then  we  gather  as  we  travel 
Bits  of  moss  and  dirty  gravel, 

And  we  chip  off  little  specimens  of 

stone ; 

And  we  carry  home  as  prizes 
Funny  bugs  of  handy  sizes, 

Just  to  give  the  day  a  scientific  tone. 

If  the  roads  are  wet  and  muddy 
We  remain  at  home  and  study, — 

For  the  Goat  is  very  clever  at  a  sum, — 
And  the  Dog,  instead  of  fighting 
Studies  ornamental  writing, 

While  the  Cat  is  taking  lessons  on  tlie 
drum. 

We  retire  at  eleven, 
And  we  rise  again  at  seven; 
And  I  wish  to  call  attention,  as  I  close, 
To  the  fact  that  all  the  scholars 
Are  correct  about  their  collars, 
And   particular  in  turning  out  their 
toes. 

CHARLES  E.  CARBTL. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


LINES  ON  MONTEZUMA 

Montezuma 

Met  a  puma 

Coming  through  the  rye; 

Montezuma 

Made  the  puma 

Into  apple-pie. 

Invitation 
To  the  nation 
Every  one  to  come. 
Montezuma 
And  the  puma 
Give  a  kettle-drum. 

Acceptation 
Of  the  nation, 
One  and  all  invited. 
Montezuma 
And  the  puma 
Equally  delighted. 

Preparation, 
Ostentation, 
Dresses  rich  prepared: 
Feathers — jewels — 
Work  in  crewels — 
No  expense  is  spared. 


Congregation 
Of  the  nation 
Round  the  palace  wall. 
Awful  rumour 
That  the  puma 
Won't  be  served  to  all. 

Deputation 

From  the  nation, 

Audience  they  gain. 

"What's  this  rumour? 

Montezuma, 

If  you  please,  explain." 

Montezuma 
(Playful  humour 
Very  well  sustained) 
Answers  "Pie-dish, 
As  it's  my  dish, 
Is  for  me  retained." 

Exclamation ! 
Indignation ! 
Feeling  running  high. 
Montezuma 
Joins  the  puma 
In  the  apple-pie. 

D.  F.  A. 
Easy  reading. 


AN  UTTER  PASSION  UTTERED  UTTERLY 

Meseem's  that  love,  with  swifter  feet  than  fire, 

Brought  me  my  Lady,  crown'd  with  amorous  burs, 

And  drapen  in  tear-colour'd  minivers, 

Sloped  satire  wise,  in  token  of  desire. 

My  heart  she  soaked  in  tears,  and  on  a  pyre 

Laid,  for  Love's  sake,  in  folds  of  fragrant  perse, 

The  while  her  face,  more  fair  than  sunflowers, 

She  gave  mine  eyes  for  pasture  most  entire. 

Sicklike,  she  seemed,  as  with  wan-carven  smiles 

Some  deal  she  moved  anear,  and  thereunto 

Thrice   paler  wox,   and  weaker  than   blown   sand 

Upon  the  passioning  ocean's  bleached  miles 

And  as  her  motion's  music  nearer  drew 

My  starved  lips  played  the  vampyre  with  her  hand. 

JOHN  TODHUNTER. 
Conscientious,  painstaking  work. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


83 


HUMPTY  DUMPTY'S  RECITA- 
TION 

"In  winter,  when  the  fields  are  white, 
I  sing  this  song  for  your  delight 

"In   spring,   when   woods   are   getting 

green, 
I'll  try  and  tell  you  what  I  mean : " 

"In  summer,  when  the  days  are  long, 
Perhaps  you'll  understand  the  song: 

In  autumn,  when  the  leaves  are  brown, 
Take  pen  and  ink,  and  write  it  down." 

"I  sent  a  message  to  the  fish : 

I  told  them  'This  is  what  I  wish.' 

The  little  fishes  of  the  sea, 
They  sent  an  answer  back  to  me. 

The  little  fishes'  answer  was, 

'We  cannot  do  it,  Sir,  because ' " 

"I  sent  to  them  again  to  say 
'It  will  be  better  to  obey/ 

The  fishes  answered,  with  a  grin, 
'Why,  what  a  temper  you  are  in !' 

I  told  them  once,  I  told  them  twice: 
They  would  not  listen  to  advice. 

I  took  a  kettle  large  and  new, 
Fit  for  the  deed  I  had  to  do. 

My  heart  went  hop,  my  heart  went 

thump : 
I  filled  the  kettle  at  the  pump. 

Then  some  one  came  to  me  and  said, 
'The  little  fishes  are  in  bed.' 

I  said  to  him,  I  said  it  plain, 

'Then  you  must  wake  them  up  again.' 


I  said  it  very  loud  and  clear: 
I  went  and  shouted  in  his  ear. 


But  he  was  very  stiff  and  proud : 

He  said,  'You  needn't  shout  so  loud!' 


And  he  was  very  proud  and  stiff: 
He  said,  'I'd  go  and  wake  them,  if — 


I  took  a  corkscrew  from  the  shelf: 
I  went  to  wake  them  up  myself. 

And  when  I  found  the  door  was  locked, 
I  pulled  and  pushed  and  kicked  and 
knocked. 

And  when  I  found  the  door  was  shut, 
I  tried  to  turn  the  handle,  but " 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE 
OYSTERMAN 

It  was  a  tall  young  oysterman  lived  by 

the  river-side;  , 

His  shop  was  just  upon  the  bank,  his 

boat  was  on  the  tide. 
The  daughter  of  a  fisherman,  that  was 

so  straight  and  slim, 
Lived  over  on  the  other  bank,  right 

opposite  to  him. 

It  was  the  pensive  oysterman  tLat  saw 

a  lovely  maid, 
Upon  a  moonlight  evening,  a-sitting  in 

the  shade; 
He  saw  her  wave  her  handkerchief, 

as  much  as  if  to  say, 
"I'm   wide   awake,   young   oysterman, 

and  all  the  folks  away." 

Then  up  arose  the  oysterman,  and  to 

himself  said  he, 
"I  guess  I'll  leave  the  skiff  at  home,  for 

fear  that  folks  should  see ; 
I  read  it  in  the  story-book,  that,  for  to 

kiss  his  dear, 
Leander  swam  the  Hellespont — and  I 

will  swim  this  here." 

And  he  has  leaped  into  the  waves,  and 

crossed  the  shining  stream, 
And  he  has  clambered  up  the  bank,  all 

in  the  moonlight  gleam; 
0  there  were  kisses  sweet  as  dew,  and 

words  as  soft  as  rain — 
But  they  have  heard  her  father's  step, 

and  in  he  leaps  again ! 

Out  spoke  the  ancient  fisherman — "0 

what  was  that,  my  daughter?" 
"'Twas  nothing  but  a  pebble,  sir,  I 

threw  into  the  water." 
"And  what  is  that,  pray  tell  me,  love, 

that  paddles  off  so  fast?" 
"It's  nothing  but  a  porpoise,  sir,  that's 

been  a-swimming  past." 


Out    spoke    the    ancient    fisherman — 

"Now  bring  me  my  harpoon ! 
I'll  get  into  my  fishing-boat,  and  fix 

the  fellow  soon." 
Down  fell  that  pretty  innocent,  as  falls 

a  snow-white  lamb ; 
Her   hair   drooped   round   her   pallid 

cheeks,  like  sea-weed  on  a  clam. 

Alas  for  those  two  loving  ones!  she 

waked  not  from  her  swound, 
And  he  was  taken  with  the  cramp,  and 

in  the  waves  was  drowned; 
But  Fate  has  metamorphosed  them,  in 

pity  of  their  wo, 
And  now  they  keep  an  oyster-shop  for 

mermaids  down  below. 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

Small  and  early  fun. 


A  HISTORY 

There  was  a  man,  so  legends  say, 
And  he,  how  strange  to  tell! 

Was  born  upon  the  very  day 
Whereon  his  birthday  fell! 

He  was  a  baby  first.    And  then 
He  was  his  parents'  joy; 

But  was  a  man  soon  after,  when, 
He  ceased  to  be  a  boy. 

And  when  he  got  to  middle  life, 

To  marry  was  his  whim; 
The  self -same  day  he  took  a  wife, 

Some  woman  married  him ! 

None  saw  him  to  the  other  side 
Of  Styx,  by  Charon  ferried; 

But  'tis  conjecture  that  he  died, 
Because  he  has  been  buried. 

TOM  HOOD,  JR. 

One  morel 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


85 


THE  CONVERTED  CANNIBALS 

Upon  an  island,  all  alone, 

They  lived,  in  the  Pacific; 
Somewhere  within  the  Torrid  Zone, 

Where  heat  is  quite  terrific. 
'Twould  shock  you  were  I  to  declare 
The  many  things  they  did  not  wear, 
Altho'  no  doubt 
One's  best  without 
Such  things  in  heat  terrific. 

Though  cannibals  by  birth  were  they, 

Yet,  since  they'd  first  existed, 
Their  simple  menu  day  by  day 

Of  such-like  things  consisted: 
Omelets  of  turtle's  eggs,  and  yams, 
And  stews  from  freshly-gathered  clams, 
Such  things  as  these 
Were, — if  you  please, — 
Of  what  their  fare  consisted. 

But  after  dinner  they'd  converse, 

Nor  did  their  topic  vary; 
Wild  tales  of  gore  they  would  rehearse, 

And  talk  of  missionary. 

They'd  gaze  upon  each  other's  joints, 
And  indicate  the  tender  points. 

Said  one :    "For  us 

'Tis  dangerous 
To  think  of  missionary." 

Well,  on  a  day,  upon  the  shore, 

As  flotsam,  or  as  jetsam, 
Some  wooden  cases, — ten,  or  more, — 

Were  cast  up.    "Let  us  get  some, 
And  see,  my  friend,  what  they  contain ; 
The  chance  may  not  occur  again," 
Said  good  Who-zoo. 
Said  Turn-turn,  "Do; 
We'll  both  wade  out  and  get  some." 


The  cases  held, — what  do  you  think? — 
"PRIME  MISSIONARY — TINNED." 


Nay !   gentle  reader,  do  not  shrink- 
The  man  who  made  it  sinned: 


He  thus  had  labelled  bloater-paste 
To  captivate  the  native  taste. 
He  hoped,  of  course, 
This  fraud  to  force 
On  them.    In  this  he  sinned. 


Our  simple  friends  knew  naught   of 

sin; 

They  thought  that  this  confection 
Was  missionary  in  a  tin 
According  to  direction. 
For  very  joy  they  shed  salt  tears. 
"  'Tis    what    we've    waited    for,    for 

years," 

Said  they.    "Hooray! 
We'll  feast  to-day 
According  to  direction." 


"  'Tis  very  tough,"  said  one,  for  he 

The  tin  and  all  had  eaten. 
"Too  salt,"  the  other  said,  "for  me; 

The  flavour  might  be  beaten." 
It  was  enough.     Soon  each  one  swore 
He'd  missionary  eat  no  more: 
Their  tastes  were  cured, 
They  felt  assured 
This  flavour  might  be  beaten. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


And,  should  a  missionary  call 

To-day,  he'd  £nd  them  gentle, 
With  no  perverted  tastes  at  all, 

And  manners  ornamental ; 
He'd  be  received,  I'm  bound  to  say, 
In  courteous  and  proper  way; 
Nor  need  he  fear 
To  taste  their  cheer 
However  ornamental. 

G.  E.  FARROW. 

It's  human  nature  to  like  inhuman 
stories. 


THE  YOUNG  GAZELLE 
A  Moore  -  ish  Tale 

In  early  youth,  as  you  may  guess, 

I  revelled  in  poetic  lore, 
And  while  my  schoolmates  studied  less, 

I  resolutely  studied  Moore. 

Those    touching    lines    from    "Lalla 

Rookh,"— 
"Ah,  ever  thus — "  you  know  them 

well, 

Such  root  within  my  bosom  took, 
I  wished  I  had  a  young  Gazelle. 

Oh,  yes !  a  sweet,  a  sweet  Gazelle, 
"To  charm  me  with  its  soft  black 
eye," 

So  soft,  so  liquid,  that  a  spell 
Seems  in  that  gem-like  orb  to  lie. 


Years,  childhood  passed,  youth  fled 
away, 

My  vain  desire  I'd  learned  to  quell, 
Till  came  that  most  auspicious  day 

When  some  one  gave  me  a  Gazelle. 

With  care,  and  trouble,  and  expense, 
'Twas  brought  from  Afric's  northern 
cape; 

It  seemed  of  great  intelligence, 
And  oh !  so  beautiful  a  shape. 

Its  lustrous,  liquid  eye  was  bent 
With  special  lovingness  on  me; 

No  gift  that  mortal  could  present 
More  welcome  to  my  heart  could  be. 

I  brought  him  food  with  fond  caress, 
Built   him   a   hut,  snug,  neat,   and 
warm; 

I  called  him  "Selim,"  to  express 
The  marked  s(e)limness  of  his  form. 

The  little  creature  grew  so  tame, 
He   "learned   to   know    (the   neigh- 
bours) well;" 

And  then  the  ladies,  when  they  came, 
Oh!    how   they    "nursed    that    dear 
Gazelle." 

But,  wo  is  me !  on  earthly  ground 
Some  ill  with  every  blessing  dwells; 

And  soon  to  my  dismay  I  found 
That  this  applies  to  young  Gazelles. 

When  free  allowed  to  roam  indoors, 
The  mischief  that  he  did  was  great; 

The  walls,  the  furniture,  the  floors, 
He  made  in  a  terrific  state. 

He  nibbled  at  the  table-cloth, 
And  trod  the  carpet  into  holes, 

And  in  his  gambols,  nothing  loth, 
Kicked  over  scuttles  full  of  coals. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


87 


To  view  his  image  in  the  glass, 
He  reared  upon  his  hinder  legs; 

And  thus  one  morn  I  found,  alas ! 
Two   porcelain  vases   smashed   like 
eggs. 

Whatever  did  his  fancy  catch 

By  way  of  food,  he  would  not  wait 

To  be  invited,  but  would  snatch 
It  from  one's  table,  hand,  or  plate. 

He  riled  the  dog,  annoyed  the  cat, 
And  scared  the  goldfish  into  fits; 

He  butted  through  my  newest  hat, 
And  tore  my  manuscript  to  bits. 

'Twas  strange,  so  light  his  hooflets 
weighed, 

His  limbs  as  slender  as  a  hare's, 
The  noise  my  little  Selim  made 

In  trotting  up  and  down  the  stairs. 

To  tie  him  up  I  thought  was  wise, 
But  loss  of  freedom  gave  him  pain; 

I  could  not  stand  those  pleading  eyes, 
And  so  I  let  him  go  again. 

How  sweet  to  see  him  skip  and  prance 
Upon  the  gravel  or  the  lawn; 

More  light  in  step  than  fairies'  dance, 
More  graceful  than  an  English  fawn. 

But  then  he  spoilt  the  garden  so, 
Trod  down  the  beds,  raked  up  the 
seeds, 

And  ate  the  plants — nor  did  he  show 
The  least  compunction  for  his  deeds. 

He  trespassed  on  the  neighbours' 
ground, 

And  broke  two  costly  melon  frames, 
With  other  damages — a  pound 

To  pay,  resulted  from  his  games. 


In  short,  the  mischief  was  immense 
That  from  his  gamesome  pranks  be- 
fel, 

And,  truly,  in  a  double  sense, 

He  proved  a  very  "dear  Gazelle." 

At  length  I  sighed — "Ah,  ever  thus 
Doth     disappointment     mock    each 
hope; 

But  'tis  in  vain  to  make  a  fuss; 
You'll  have  to  go,  my  antelope." 

The  chance  I  wished  for  did  occur; 

A  lady  going  to  the  East 
Was  willing;  so  I  gave  to  her 

That  little  antelopian  beast. 

I  said,  "This  antler'd  desert  child 
In  Turkish  palaces  may  roam, 

But  he  is  much  too  free  and  wild 
To  keep  in  any  English  home." 

Yes,  tho'  I  gave  him  up  with  tears, 
Experience  had  broke  the  spell, 

And  if  I  live  a  thousand  years, 
I'll  never  have  a  young  Gazelle. 
WALTER  PARKE. 

In  possession  sweet  desire  will  die. 


IMAGISTE  LOVE  LINES 

I  love  my  lady  with  a  deep  purple  love ; 
She  fascinates  me  like  a  fly 
Struggling  in  a  pot  of  glue. 
Her  eyes  are  grey,  like  twin  ash-cans, 
Just  emptied,  about  which  still  hovers 
A  dainty  mist. 

Her  disposition  is  as  bright  as  a  ten- 
cent  shine, 

Yet  her  kisses  are  tender  and  goulashy. 
I  love  my  lady  with  a  deep  purple  love. 


Than  which,  nothing  could  be  more 


so. 


88 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


DIVERSIONS  OF  THE  RE-ECHO  CLUB 

SAW  A  PURPLE  COW.I  NEVER  HOPE  TO  SEEONE 


It  is  with  pleasure  that  we  announce 
our  ability  to  offer  to  the  public  the 
papers  of  the  Re-Echo  Club.  This 
club,  somewhat  after  the  order  of  the 
Echo  Club,  late  of  Boston,  takes  pleas- 
ure in  trying  to  better  what  is  done. 
On  the  occasion  of  the  meeting  of 


which  the  following  gems  of  poesy  are 
the  result,  the  several  members  of  the 
club  engaged  to  write  up  the  well- 
known  tradition  of  the  Purple  Cow  in 
more  elaborate  form  than  the  quatrain 
made  famous  by  Mr.  Gelett  Burgess: 


"I  never  saw  a  Purple  Cow, 
I  never  hope  to  see  one; 

But  I  can  tell  you,  anyhow, 
I'd  rather  see  than  be  one." 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


89 


The  first  attempt  here  cited  is  the 
production  of  Mr.  John  Milton: 

Hence,  vain,  deluding  cows. 

The  herd  of  folly,  without  colour 
bright, 

How  little  you  delight, 

Or  fill  the  Poet's  mind,  or  songs 
arouse ! 

But,  hail!  thou  goddess  gay  of  fea- 
ture! 

Hail,  divinest  purple  creature! 

Oh,  Cow,  thy  visage  is  too  bright 

To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight. 

And  though  I'd  like,  just  once,  to  see 
thee, 

I  never,  never,  neyer'd  be  thee ! 

MB.   P.   BYSSHE   SHELLEY: 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit! 

Cow  thou  never  wert ; 
But  in  life  to  cheer  it 

Playest  thy  full  part 
In  purple  lines  of  unpremeditated  art. 

The  pale  purple  colour 

Melts  around  thy  sight 
Like  a  star,  but  duller, 
In  the  broad  daylight. 
I'd  see  thee,  but  I  would  not  be  thee  if 
I  might. 

We  look  before  and  after 

At  cattle  as  they  browse; 
Our  most  hearty  laughter 

Something  sad  must  rouse. 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  fell 
of  Purple  Cows. 

MB.  w.  WOBDSWOBTH: 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dee ; 
A  Cow  whom  there  were  few  to  praise 

And  very  few  to  see. 


A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Greeting  the  smiling  East 
Is  not  so  purple,  I  must  own, 

As  that  erratic  beast. 
She  lived  unknown,  that  Cow,  and  so 

I  never  chanced  to  see; 
But  if  I  had  to  be  one,  oh, 

The  difference  to  me! 

MB.  T.  GBAY: 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting 

day. 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er 

the  lea; 
I  watched  them  slowly  wend  their  weary 

way, 

But,  ah,  a  Purple  Cow  I  did  not  see. 

Full  many  a  cow  of  purplest  ray  serene 

Is  haply  grazing  where  I  may  not 

see; 
Full  many  a  donkey  writes  of  her,  I 

ween, 

But  neither  of  these  creatures  would 
I  be. 

MB.  j.  w.  BILEY: 

There,  little  Cow,  don't  cry! 
You  are  brindle  and  brown,  I  know. 
And  with  wild,  glad  hues 
Of  reds  and  blues, 
You  never  will  gleam  and  glow. 
But  though  not  pleasing  to  the  eye, 
There,  little  Cow,  don't  cry,  don't"  cry. 

LOBD  A.  TENNYSON: 

Ask  me  no  more.    A  cow  I  fain  would 

see 
Of  purple  tint,  like  to  a  sun-soaked 

grape — 
Of   purple    tint,    like    royal    velvet 

cape — 

But  such  a  creature  I  would  never  be — 
Ask  me  no  more. 


90 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


CAN  TELL  YOU  ANYHOW  IDRATHERSEETWAN  BE  ONE 


Ah,  yes,  I  wrote  the  "Purple  Cow" — 
I'm  sorry  now  I  wrote  it. 
But  I  can  tell  you  anyhow, 
I'll  kill  you  if  you  quote  it. 


Ernest  Peixotto 


THE   LARK 

This  lark,  —  you  may  or  may  not  know,  — 
Sang  about  twenty  years  ago; 
And  even  though  you  may  forget 
The  Goops,  the  Gum  Man  and  Vivette, 
I  can't  help  thinking  anyhow 
You  recollect  The  Purple  Cow. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


91 


MB.  R.  BROWNING: 

All  that  I  know 

Of  a  certain  Cow 
Is  it  can  throw, 

Somewhere,  somehow, 
Now  a  dart  of  red, 

Now  a  dart  of  blue 
(That  makes  purple,  'tis  said). 

I  would  fain  see,  too. 
This  Cow  that  darkles  the  red  and  the 
blue! 

MR.  J.  KEATS: 

A  cow  of  purple  is  a  joy  forever. 
Its  loveliness  increases.    I  have  never 
Seen  this  phenomenon.    Yet  ever  keep 
A  brave  lookout ;  lest  I  should  be  asleep 
When  she  comes  by.     For,  though  I 

would  not  be  one, 
I've  oft  imagined  'twould  be  joy  to  see 

one. 

MR.  D.  G.  ROSSETTi: 

The  Purple  Cow  strayed  in  the  glade; 

( Oh,  my  soul !  but  the  milk  is  blue ! ) 
She  strayed  and  strayed  and  strayed 
and  strayed 

(And  I  wail  and  I  cry  Wa-hoo!). 

I've  never  seen  her — nay,  not  I; 
(Oh,  my  soul!  but  the  milk  is  blue!) 

Yet  were  I  that  Cow  I  should  want  to 

die. 

(And  I  wail  and  I  cry  Wa-hoo!) 
But  in  vain  my  tears  I  strew. 


MR.  T.  ALDRICH: 

Somewhere  in  some  faked  nature  place, 
In  Wonderland,  in  Nonsense  Land, 

Two  darkling  shapes  met  face  to  face, 
And  bade  each  other  stand. 


"And  who  are  you?"  said  each  to  each; 

"Tell  me  your  title,  anyhow." 
One  said,  "I  am  the  Papal  Bull," 

"And  I  the  Purple  Cow." 

MR.   E.   ALLAN   POE : 

Open  then  I  flung  a  shutter, 
And,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepped  a  Purple  Cow  which 

gayly  tripped  around  my  floor. 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  she, 
Not  a  moment  stopped  or  stayed  she, 
But  with  mien  of  chorus  lady  perched 

herself  above  my  door. 
On  a  dusty  bust  of  Dante  perched  and 
sat  above  my  door. 

And  that  Purple  Cow  unflitting 
Still  is  sitting — still  is  sitting 

On   that    dusty   bust    of    Dante    just 

above  my  chamber  door, 
And  her  horns  have  all  the  seeming 
Of  a  demon's  that  is  screaming, 
And  the  arc-light  o'er  her  streaming 

Casts  her  shadow  on  the  floor. 

And  my  soul  from   out  that  pool  of 
Purple  shadow  on  the  floor, 

Shall  be  lifted  Nevermore! 

MR.  H.  LONGFELLOW: 

The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  the  wing  of  night 

As  ballast  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  air-ship  in  its  flight. 

I  dream  of  a  purple  creature 
Which  is  not  as  kine  are  now; 

And  resembles  cattle  only 
As  Cowper  resembles  a  cow. 

Such  cows  have  power  to  quiet 
Our  restless  thoughts  and  rude; 

They  come  like  the  Benedictine 
That  follows  after  food. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


MR.  A.  SWINBURNE: 

Oh,  Cow  of  rare  rapturous  vision, 

Oh,  purple,  impalpable  Cow, 
Do    you    browse    in    a    Dream    Field 

Elysian, 

Are  you  purpling  pleasantly  now? 
By   the   side   of  wan   waves    do   you 

languish  ? 

Or  in  the  lithe  lush  of  the  grove? 
While  vainly  I  search  in  my  anguish, 

0  Bovine  of  mauve! 
Despair  in  my  bosom  is  sighing, 

Hope's  star  has  sunk  sadly  to  rest; 
Though  cows  of  rare  sorts  I  am  buy- 
ing, 
Not   one    breathes    a   balm    to    my 

breast. 
Oh,  rapturous  rose-crowned  occasion, 

When  I  such  a  glory  might  see! 
But  a  cow  of  a  purple  persuasion 

1  never  would  be. 


MR.  A.  DOBSON: 

I'd  love  to  see 
A  Purple  Cow, 

Oh,  Goodness  me ! 

I'd  love  to  see 

But  not  to  be 
One.    Anyhow, 

I'd  love  to  see 
A  Purple  Cow. 


MR.  o.  HERFORD: 

Children,  observe  the  Purple  Cow, 
You  cannot  see  her,  anyhow; 
And,  little  ones,  you  need  not  hope 
Your  eyes  will  e'er  attain  such  scope. 
But  if  you  ever  have  a  choice 
To  be,  or  see,  lift  up  your  voice 
And  choose  to  see.    For  surely  you 
Don't  want  to  browse  around  and  moo. 


MR.  H.  c.  BUNNER: 

Oh,  what's  the  way  to  Arcady, 

Where  all  the  cows  are  purple? 
Ah,  woe  is  me !     I  never  hope 
On  such  a  sight  my  eyes  to  ope; 
But  as  I  sing  in  merry  glee 
Along  the  road  to  Arcady, 
Perchance  full  soon  I  may  espy 
A  Purple  Cow  come  dancing  by. 

Heigho!    I  then  shall  see  one. 
Her  horns  bedecked  with  ribbons  gay, 
And  garlanded  with  rosy  may, — 

A  tricksy  sight.     Still  I  must  say 

I'd  rather  see  than  be  one. 

MR.  A.  SWINBURNE: 

(Who  was  so  enthused  that  he  made  a 
second  attempt) 

Only  in  dim,  drowsy  depths  of  a  dream 
do  I  dare  to  delight  in  deliciously 

dreaming 

Cows  there  may  be  of  a   passionate 
purple, — cows   of   a   violent  violet- 
hue; 

Ne'er  have  I  seen  such  a  sight,  I  am 
certain  it  is  but  a  demi-delirious 

dreaming — 

Ne'er  may  I  happily  harbour  a  hesi~ 
taut  hope  in  my  heart  that  my  dream 
may  come  true. 

Sad  is  my  soul,  and  my  senses  are 
sobbing  so  strong  is  my  strenuous 
spirit  to  see  one. 

Dolefully,  drearily  doomed  to  despair 
as  warily  wearily  watching  I  wait; 

Thoughts  thickly  thronging  are  thrill- 
ing and  throbbing;  to  see  is  a  glori- 
ous gain — but  to  be  one ! 
That    were    a    darker    and    direfuller 
destiny,    that     were     a    fearfuller, 
frightfuller  fate! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


MB.  R.  KIPLING: 

In  the  old  ten-acre  pasture, 

Lookin'  eastward  toward  a  tree, 
There's  a  Purple  Cow  a-settin' 

And  I  know  she  thinks  of  me. 
For  the  wind  is  in  the  gum-tree, 

And  the  hay  is  in  the  mow, 
And  the  cow-bells  are  a-calling 

"Come  and  see  a  Purple  Cow!" 


But  I  am  not  going  now, 
Not  at  present,  anyhow, 
For  I  am  not  fond  of  purple,  and 
I  can't  abide  a  cow; 
No,  I  shall  not  go  to-day, 
Where  the  Purple  Cattle  play. 
But  I  think  I'd  rather  see  one 
Than  to  be  one,  anyhow. 

CAROLYN  WELLS. 


94  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


CLEAN  CLARA 

What!  not  know  our  Clean  Clara? 
Why,  the  hot  folks  in  Sahara, 
And  the  cold  Esquimaux, 
Our  little  Clara  knows! 
Clean  Clara,  the  Poet  sings, 
Cleaned  a  hundred  thousand  things! 

She  cleaned  the  keys  of  the  harpsichord, 
She  cleaned  the  hilt  of  the  family  sword, 
She  cleaned  my  lady,  she  cleaned  my  lord, 
All  the  pictures  in  their  frames, 
Knights  with  daggers  and  stomachered  dames — 
Cecils,  Godfreys,  Montforts,  Graemes, 
Winifreds — all  those  nice  old  names! 

She  cleaned  the  works  of  the  eight-day  clock, 

She  cleaned  the  spring  of  a  secret  lock, 

She  cleaned  the  mirror,  she  cleaned  the  cupboard, 

All  the  books  she  India-rubbered! 

She  cleaned  the  Dutch  tiles  in  the  place, 

She    cleaned  some  very  old-fashioned  lace; 

The  Countess  of  Miniver  came  to  her, 

"Pray,  my  dear,  will  you  clean  my  fur?" 

All  her  cleanings  are  admirable, 

To  count  your  teeth  you  will  be  able, 

If  you  look  in  the  walnut  table. 

She  cleaned  the  tent-stitch  and  the  sampler, 
She  cleaned  the  tapestry,  which  was  ampler; 
Joseph  going  down  into  the  pit, 
And  the  Shunammite  woman  with  the  boy  in  a  fit. 

You  saw  the  reapers,  not  in  the  distance, 

And  Elisha,  cominsr  to  the  child's  assistance, 

With  the  house  on  the  wall  that  was  built  for  the  prophet, 

The  chair,  the  bed  and  the  bolster  of  it. 

The  eyebrows  all  had  a  twirl  reflective, 

Just  like  an  eel :  to  spare  invective 

There  was  plenty  of  color  but  no  perspective. 

However,  Clara  cleaned  it  all, 
With  a  curious  lamp,  that  hangs  in  the  hall ; 
She  cleaned  the  drops  of  the  chandeliers, 
Madam,  in  mittens,  was  moved  to  tears. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


95 


She  cleaned  the  cage  of  the  cockatoo, 
The  oldest  bird  that  ever  grew; 
I  should  say  a  thousand  years  old  would  do. 
I'm  sure  he  looked  it,  but  nobody  knew; 
She  cleaned  the  china,  she  cleaned  the  delf, 
She  cleaned  the  baby,  she  cleaned  herself! 

Tomorrow  morning,  she  means  to  try 
To  clean  the  cobwebs  from  the  sky; 
Some  people  say  the  girl  will  rue  it, 
But  my  belief  is  she  will  do  it. 

So  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  be  there  to  see 
There's  a  beautiful  place  in  the  walnut  tree; 
The  bough  is  as  firm  as  a  solid  rock; 
She  brings  out  her  broom  at  six  o'clock. 


In  spite  of  all,  I'm  for  Clara. 

A  NEW  PAPER  FOB  BIPEDS 

DEAR  SIR, — So  much  interest  is 
taken  nowadays  in  the  four-footed  do- 
mestic creation,  their  joys  and  sorrows, 
that  it  only  seems  fair  that  our  feath- 
ered friends,  the  fowls,  should  have  a 
turn.  With  this  end  in  view  I  am 
bringing  out  a  paper  called  The  Daily 
Wattle,  devoted  to  the  needs  and  inter- 
ests of  the  poultry  world,  and  send  you 
herewith  a  few  cuttings  from  the  first 
number,  hoping  thereby  to  arouse  pub- 
lic interest  in  a  much-needed  jour- 
nal:— 

Social  and  General. 

Madame  Anne  de  Lusian  gave  a  de- 
lightful little  afternoon  party  on  Sat- 
urday, at  which  Crewso  sang.  Among 
others  present  we  noticed  Mrs.  Legge 
Home,  who  looked  charming  in  white, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bantam,  and  Mr.  Orp- 
ington, of  the  Buffs,  who  escorted  two 
of  his  charming  sisters. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dawking  have  gone  to 
Leaden  Hall  for  the  season. 


W.  B.  RANDS. 


Her  many  friends  will  be  grieved  to 
hear  of  the  sad  death  of  Miss  Pullet, 
which  occurred  suddenly  last  Wednes- 
day at  Yew  Tree  Farm.  She  appeared 
to  be  in  the  best  of  health  and  spirits 
on  the  Tuesday,  though  her  friends 
had  noticed  a  decided  tendency  to 
embonpoint  during  the  last  few  weeks, 
which,  it  is  feared,  may  have  contrib- 
uted to  her  sudden  seizure  and  early 
demise. 

Lord  Barn  d'Or  is  recovering  from 
the  somewhat  severe  injuries  he  sus- 
tained in  his  motor  accident  on  the 
Brighton  road  last  week. 

Two  eggs,  old  enough  to  know  bet- 
ter, were  caught  poaching  yesterday, 
and  were  served  accordingly. 

The  latest  report  is  that  feathers  are 
going  out  of  fashion  and  very  few 
will  be  worn  this  autumn. 

Births : 

At  "Ye  Neste,"  Henley,  Mrs.  Wyan 
Dotte  of  eight  sons  and  five  daughters 
(three  addled).  American  papers, 
please  copy. 


96 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


To-day's  Arrangements. 

Moulting  season  commences. 
Hamburg    Morning    Concerts,    3.45 

A.M. 

Egg-laying  contest,  7  to  11.30  A.M. 

Mr.  Cochin  Cockerel's  Lecture  at  the 
Cackleston  Hall.  Subject:  "Are  we 
Hen-pecked?"  2.30  P.M. 

Daily  trips  round  the  Calf  and  the 
Chicken  Light. 

Small  Wants  Column. 

Cast-off  Feathers. — Mrs.  Farmer  at- 
tends at  own  roosts.  Best  prices  given. 

To  Let— A  Select  Midden.  Estab- 
lished two  years.  Best  straw  and  all 
improvements.  Splendid  crowing  po- 
sition, under  good  bedroom  windows. — 
Apply  Chanticleer,  c/o  Cox  &  Co., 
Featherstone  Buildings,  E.G. 

For  Sale — Good  Crate,  nearly  new, 
or  would  exchange  for  Indian  maize, 
or  anything  useful. — Address,  Brahma, 
No.  702,  Poultry,  E.C. 

Forecast. 

Full  crops  are  expected  generally. 
Knacky,  what? 


IN  STATU  QUO 

Lo,  the  poor  Indian !    Relic  of  the  time 
When  in  Manhattan  Art  was  in  her 

prime; 

When  north  and  south  on  every  avenue 
A  line  of  noble  statues  met  the  view, 
Gorgeously    gilded,    painted,    heel    to 

head, 
In  blue  and  green,  in  yellow  and  in 

red, 

Bravely  attired  and  dignified  in  pose, 
With  homely  legend  writ  in  homely 

prose  I 


Gone  is  that  Gothic  Art;  the  Renais- 
sance 

Chases  the  Wooden  Indian  from  his 
haunts. 

Now  lean  and  furtive,  faded,  sullen, 
glowery, 

He's  relegated  to  the  distant  Bowery, 

Where  now  in  gloomy  trance  he  views 
the  schism 

That  alienates  our  Art  from  Sym- 
bolism. 

Gone  is  his  simple  mediaeval  verity 

In  this  new  reign  of  plastic  insincerity ! 


See  where  the  brute  Thorwaldsen,  dark, 
Locates  his  office  in  the  Park 
Beneath  the  Elevated's  shade, 
And  plies  his  horrid,  hated  trade! 
In  open  sight  of  all  beneath,    - 
A  master  dentist  filling  teeth! 
Mark  how  the  maid,  his  victim  she, 
Writhes  in  eternal  agony ! 
His  mallet  held  (how  well  we  know!) 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


97 


Delays  the  dreaded,  cruel  blow. 
The  nursemaid  hurries  by  with  fear, 
The  copper  drops  a  silent  tear. 
Who  set  this  fearful  horror  here? 

What  frantic  storm  of  meteoric  Art 

Rained  these  outrageous  samples  of 
Delsarte  ? 

What  wicked,  wretched  whirlwind  bade 
them  fall 

Upon  the  Park,  the  Boulevard,  the 
Mall, 

Haphazard  on  the  drive  and  on  the 
green, 

The  worst  conspicuous,  the  best  un- 
seen? 


While  nearer,  shrinking  underneath  a 
tree, 

The  naked  bust  of  Humboldt — who 
was  he? 

The  decent  house-maids  pass  the  scan- 
dal by 

With  but  a  timid  gesture  of  the  eye. 

Far   in   the   distance,    out   of  mortal 

sight, 

Remote  as  Jove  upon  Olympian  height, 
High  on  the  hill's  obscure  horizon-crest 
Stands  Hamilton,  in  mossy  marble 

dressed. 
No  man  has  seen  his  face  or  read  the 

lines 


Here  Commerce,  unregarded,  in  the 
road 

Takes  up  her  poor  inconsequent  abode, 

And  there,  remote,  upon  a  long-lost 
slope 

The  bust  of  Moore  (or  Hood?)  aban- 
dons hope, 

Sown  like  some  seed  for  future  ceme- 
tery. 

His  drooping  head  proclaims  him 
lonely,  very! 

"Where  am  I  at?"  he  asks,  but  all  in 
vain, 

Of  disregarding  lovers  in  the  lane. 


Graved  on  that  pedestal  beneath  the 

pines. 
No  man  may  dare  set  foot  upon  the 

drive, 
So   here   the    penny   telescopes    may 

thrive, 
For  here  the  mounted  Park  policeman 

rides, 
And  with  his  staff  the  curious  stranger 

chides. 
The  Russian  Emperor  in  vain  might 

long 
For  guards  so  swift,  so  tireless,  and 

so  strong 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


To  save  him  from  the  vulgar-minded 
throng ! 

Not  so  within  the  shaded  classic  row 

Where  Sculpture  emulates  Madame 
Tussaud, 

And,  borrowing  our  celebrated  cousins, 

Sets  up  the  foreign  genius  by  the 
dozens. 

See  here  Beethoven  bowing  low  to 
greet 

The  sugar-coated  fairy  at  his  feet. 

See  chilly  Scott,  who  sits  amid  the 
trees, 

Drawing  a  rug  across  his  numerous 
knees. 

Over  against  him  seated  Bobbie  Burns ; 

His  wildly  frenzied  eye  to  Heaven 
turns ; 

Swathed  in  a  bandage  is  his  anguished 
throat ; 

Below,  a  poem  that  he  never  wrote. 

While  all  about,  to  patronise  our  land, 

Each  on  his  pedestal  the  Dagoes 
stand — 

Shakspere,  Columbus,  and  the  un- 
known others — 

Astonished  at  their  wealth  of  new- 
made  brothers ! 

Quest  not  the  Park  for  heroes  of  our 

day, 

For  in  remoter  corners  they  must  stay, 
Save  where  the  nameless  Indian 

Hunter  flees, 
Or  Puritan  Father  robs  the  knoll  of 

trees. 
Go  search  the  crowded  streets  beneath 

the  "L," 
For    there    amid   the    cable-cars    they 

dwell. 
Framed  in  the  arches  of  the  girders 

foul 

Our  discontented  City  Fathers  scowl; 
See  Horace  Greeley,  with  averted  eye, 
Shrink  from  a  modern  Babel  in  the 

skyj 


And    muse    upon    forgotten    Dodge's 

grace, 
Apotheosis  of  the  commonplace! 

Far  to  the  east  the  shrinking  poet  views 
In    Tompkins    Square    an    unfamiliar 

Muse. 

"M.  S.,"  the  legend  on  the  nondescript, 
Proclaims   the   statue   that   of   Manu- 
script, 
Who,  having  drunk  from  this  Pierian 

fount, 

Has  dared  the  weird  pagoda's  roof  to 
mount, 


From  which,  within  a  larnplit  constella- 
tion, 

She  bids  the  scribbler  Hope  for  Publi- 
cation ! 

And  so  from  north  to  south,  about  the 
town, 

Some  few  in  boa  (like  Burns)  and 
some  in  gown, 

In  frock  and  toga,  posed  with  scroll 
and  pen, 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


99 


The  city  bristles  with  the  hard-boiled 

men; 

Upon  the  just  and  unjust  they  descend, 
A  monstrous  Martian  holiday  to  spend, 
With  doughty  gesture  and  with  brittle 

airs. 
What  hands  have  wrought  them?    No 

one  knows  or  cares ! 

Alone,  forgot,  in  Astor  Place 
Behold  a  form  of  easy  grace ! 
Appealing  with  uplifted  finger, 
Heartless  and  hatless  must  he  linger. 
The  motorman,  with  careless  eye 
Passes  the  famous  statesman  by; 
No  hansom  cabby  heeds  his  call — 
They  disregard  him,  one  and  all. 
The  last  car  passes  out  of  sight; 
Poor  Sunset  Cox  must  spend  the  night. 
He's  lucky  not  to  be  alive ! 
No  car  will  stop,  howe'er  he  strive, 
Except  Lunch  Wagon  No.  5. 

What  do  we  care  for  Burns  or  Scott? 
For  there  are  others,  are  there  not? 
Give  us  the  men  we  care  for  truly, 
Like  Chimmie  Fadden  and  Mr.  Dooley. 
What  do  we  care  for  Bolivar? 
Give  us  Chuck  Connors  at  the  bar! 


Or  one  Rough  Rider  in  the  Park 
To  rout  the  modern  Noah's  Ark 
Of  made-in-Germany  celebrities 
From  Patagonia  and  the  Hebrides. 
Arise !  nor  weakly  stand  aghast, 
O  amateur  iconoclast ! 
Think  of  the  Heine  bust,  and  view 
The  wreck  of  Fulton  Avenue ! 
Go  where  the  Harlem  River  breeze 
Laments  the  executed  trees. 
Let  loose  the  banners  of  sedition 
Against  a  purblind  Art  Commission! 

Come,  Wooden  Indian,  rise  and  walk, 
And  lift  destructive  tomahawk; 
Strike    home,    and    steel    your    oaken 

heart, 

Strike  in  the  name  of  Gothic  Art ! 
Then  shall  the  Muses  rouse  and  smile 
To  see  you  stalk  in  Indian  file 
Triumphant  up  Third  Avenue, 
Your  altruistic  worst  to  do! 
Wait  not,  nor  peer  'neath  lifted  hand 
Into  the  Future!     Call  your  band; 
Go  forth  with  terrifying  frown, 
Pull  bronze  and  marble  image  down. 
Brave,    squaw,   and   sachem   raid   the 

town ! 

GELETT  BURGESS. 


OUR  TRAVELLER 

If  thou  would'st  stand  on  Etna's  burning  brow, 

With  smoke  above  and  roaring  flame  below; 

And  gaze  adown  that  molten  gulf  revealed, 

Till  thy  soul  shuddered  and  thy  senses  reel'd: 

If  thou  would'st  beard  Niag'ra  in  his  pride, 

Or  stem  the  billows  of  Propontic  tide; 

Scale  all  alone  some  dizzy  Alpine  haut, 

And  shriek  "Excelsior!"  among  the  snow; 

Would'st  tempt  all  death,  all  dangers  that  may  be — 

Perils  by  land  and  perils  on  the  sea; 

This  vast  round  world — I  say,  if  thou  would'st  view  it — 

Then,  why  the  dickens  don't  you  go  and  do  it? 

H.  CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL. 


Inexpensive. 


100  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


HOW  A  GIRL  WAS  TOO  RECKLESS  OF  GRAMMAR  BY  FAR 

Matilda  Maud  Mackenzie  frankly  hadn't  any  chin, 
Her  hands  were  rough,  her  feet  she  turned  invariably  inj 
Her  general  form  was  German, 

By  which  I  mean  that  you 
Her  waist  could  not  determine 

Within  a  foot  or  two. 
And  not  only  did  she  stammer, 
But  she  used  the  kind  of  grammar 

That  is  called,  for  sake  of  euphony,  askew. 

From  what  I  say  about  her,  don't  imagine  I  desire 
A  prejudice  against  this  worthy  creature  to  inspire. 
She  was  willing,  she  was  active, 
She  was  sober,  she  was  kind, 
But  she  never  looked  attractive 

And  she  hadn't  any  mind. 
I  knew  her  more  than  slightly, 
And  I  treated  her  politely 

When  I  met  her,  but  of  course  I  wasn't  blind! 

Matilda  Maud  Mackenzie  had  a  habit  that  was  droll, 
She  spent  her  morning  seated  on  a  rock  or  on  a  knoll, 
And  threw  with  much  composure 

A  smallish  rubber  ball 
At  an  inoffensive  osier 

By  a  little  waterfall; 
But  Matilda's  way  of  throwing 
Was  like  other  people's  mowing, 

And  she  never  hit  the  willow-tree  at  all! 

One  day  as  Miss  Mackenzie  with  uncommon  ardour  tried 
To  hit  the  mark,  the  missile  flew  exceptionally  wide. 
And,  before  her  eyes  astounded, 

On  a  fallen  maple's  trunk 
Ricochetted  and  rebounded 
In  the  rivulet,  and  sunk! 
Matilda,  greatly  frightened, 
In  her  grammar  unenlightened, 

Remarked,  "Well  now  I  ast  yer,  who'd  'er  thunk?" 

But  what  a  marvel  followed !    From  the  pool  at  once  there  rose 
A  frog,  the  sphere  of  rubber  balanced  deftly  on  his  nose. 

He  beheld  her  fright  and  frenzy 
And,  her  panic  to  dispel, 

On  his  knee  by  Miss  Mackenzie 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


101 


He  obsequiously  fell. 
With  quite  as  much  decorum 
As  a  speaker  in  a  forum 

He  started  in  his  history  to  tell. 

"Fair  maid,"  he  said,  "I  beg  you  do  not  hesitate  or  wince, 
If  you'll  promise  that  you'll  wed  me,  I'll  at  once  become  a  prince ; 
For  a  fairy,  old  and  vicious, 

An  enchantment  round  me  spun!" 
Then  he  looked  up,  unsuspicious, 

And  he  saw  what  he  had  won, 
And  in  terms  of  sad  reproach,  he 
Made  some  comments,  sotto  voce, 

(Which  the  publishers  have  bidden  me  to  shun!) 

Matilda  Maud  Mackenzie  said,  as  if  she  meant  to  scold; 
"I  never!    Why,  you  forward  thing !    Now,  ain't  you  awful  bold !" 
Just  a  glance  he  paused  to  give  her, 
And  his  head  was  seen  to  clutch, 
Then  he  darted  to  the  river, 

And  he  dived  to  beat  the  Dutch! 
While  the  wrathful  maiden  panted 
"I  don't  think  he  was  enchanted!" 

(And  he  really  didn't  look  it  overmuch!) 

The  Moral :  In  one's  language  one  conservative  should  be ; 
Speech  is  silver  and  it  never  should  be  free! 

GUY  WETJVIORE  CAEEYL. 


THE   RETIRED   PORK-BUTCHER 

AND  THE  SPOOK 
I  may  as  well 
Proceed  to  tell 
About  a  Mister  Higgs, 
Who  grew  quite  rich 
In  trade — the  which 
Was  selling  pork  and  pigs. 

From  trade  retired, 

He  much  desired 
To  rank  with  gentlefolk, 

So  bought  a  place 

He  called  "The  Chase," 
And  furnished  it — old  oak. 

Ancestors  got 

(Twelve  pounds  the  lot, 


In  Tottenham  Court  Road) ; 

A  pedigree — 

For  nine  pounds  three, — 
The  Heralds'  Court  bestowed. 

Within  the  hall, 

And  on  the  wall, 
Hung  armour  bright  and  strong. 

"To  Ethelbred"— 

The  label  read — 
"De  Higgs,  this  did  belong." 

'Twas  quite  complete, 

This  country  seat, 
Yet  neighbours  stayed  away. 

Nobody  called, — 

Higgs  was  blackballed, — 
Which  caused  him  great  dismay. 


102 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


"Why  can  it  be?" 

One  night  said  he 
When  thinking  of  it  o'er. 

There  came  a  knock 

('Twas  twelve  o'clock) 
Upon  his  chamber  door. 

Higgs  cried,  "Come  in !" 

A  vapour  thin 
The  keyhole  wandered  through. 

Higgs  rubbed  his  eyes 

In  mild  surprise: 
A  ghost  appeared  in  view. 


"I  beg,"  said  he, 

"You'll  pardon  me, 
In  calling  rather  late. 

A  family  ghost, 

I  seek  a  post, 
With  wage  commensurate. 

"I'll  serve  you  well; 

My  'fiendish  yell' 
Is  certain  sure  to  please. 

'Sepulchral  tones/ 

And  'rattling  bones,' 
I'm  very  good  at  these. 

"Five  bob  I  charge 

To  roam  at  large, 
With  'clanking  chains'  ad  lib.; 

I  do  such  things 

As  'gibberings' 
At  one-and-three  per  gib. 


"Or,  by  the  week, 

I  merely  seek 
Two  pounds — which  is  not  dear; 

Because  I  need, 

Of  course,  no  feed, 
No  washing,  and  no  beer." 

Higgs  thought  it  o'er 

A  bit,  before 
He  hired  the  family  ghost, 

But,  finally, 

He  did  agree 
To  give  to  him  the  post. 

It  got  about — 

You  know,  no  doubt, 
How  quickly  such  news  flies — 

Throughout  the  place, 

From  "Higgses  Chase" 
Proceeded  ghostly  cries. 

The  rumour  spread, 

Folks  shook  their  head, 
But  dropped  in  one  by  one. 

A  bishop  came 

(Forget  his  name), 
And  then  the  thing  was  done. 

For  afterwards 

All  left  their  cards, 
"Because,"  said  they,  "you  see, 

One  who  can  boast 

A  family  ghost 
Respectable  must  be." 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


103 


When  it  was  due, 

The  "ghostes's"  screw 
Higgs  raised — as  was  but  right — 

They  often  play, 

In  friendly  way, 
A  game  of  cards  at  night. 

G.  E.  FARROW. 

Skilled  labour  can  always  command 
a  good  position  and  salary. 


LILIES 

Lilies,  lilies,  white  lilies  and  yellow — 

Lilies,  lilies,  purple  lilies  and  golden — 

Calla  lilies,  tiger  lilies,  lilies  of  the 
valley — 

Lilies,  lilies,  lilies — 

Bulb,  bud  and  blossom — 

What  made  them  lilies? 

If  they  were  not  lilies  they  would  have 
to  be  something  else,  would  they  not  1 

What  was  it  that  made  them  lilies  in- 
stead of  making  them  violets  or  roses 
or  geraniums  or  petunias? 

What  was  it  that  made  you  yourself 
and  me  myself?  What? 

Alas !    I  do  not  know ! 

DON  MARQUIS. 

The  Poetical  Interrogative. 


FRAUD 

"I  will  never  again," 
Said  a  mortified  hen, 

"Be  deceived  in  this  impudent  way. 
Do  remind  me,  I  beg, 
That  the  crockery  egg 

Is  a  fol-de-rol,  lol-de-rol  lay, 

Anyway ; 

It  is  only  a  fol-de-rol  lay." 

Not  a  Macaulay  lay. 


CHRISTMAS  CHIMES 

Little  Penelope  Socrates, 

A  Boston  maid  of  four, 
Wide  opened  her  eyes  on   Christmas 
morn, 

And  looked  the  landscape  o'er. 
"What  is  it  inflates  my  bos  de  bleu?" 

She  asked  with  dignity; 
"'Tis  Ibsen  in  the  original! 

Oh,  joy  beyond  degree!" 


Miss  Mary  Cadwallader  Rittenhouse 

Of  Philadelphia  town, 
Awoke  as  much  as  they  ever  do  there 

And  watched  the  snow  come  down. 
"I'm  glad  that  it  is  Christmas," 

You  might  have  heard  her  say, 
"For  my  family  is  one  year  older  now 

Than  it  was  last  Christmas  day." 


'Twas  Christmas  in  giddy  Gotham, 

And  Miss  Irene  de  Jones 
Awoke    at    noon    and    yawned    and 
yawned, 

And  stretched  her  languid  bones. 
"I'm  sorry  it  is  Christmas, 

Papa  at  home  will  stay, 
For  'Change  is  closed  and  he  won't 
make 

A  single  cent  to-day." 


Windily  dawned  the  Christmas 

On  the  city  by  the  lake, 
And  Miss  Arabel  Wabash  Breezy 

Was  instantly  awake. 
"What's  that  thing  in  my  stocking? 

Well,  in  two  jiffs  I'll  know!" 
And  she  drew  a  grand  piano  forth 

From  'way  down  in  the  toe. 


The  scathing  satirical. 


104 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


YE  TOWNE  GOSSIP 

I'VE  GOT  a  friend. 

*  *    * 

OVER  IN  Brooklyn. 

*  *     * 

AND  WHEN  he  read  in  the  paper. 

*  •     * 

THAT  I  was  sick. 

*  *    • 

HE  TELEPHONED. 

*  *    • 

FOR  A  nickel. 

*  *     • 

AND  WAS  sorry. 

AND  COULD  he  come  over. 

*  *     * 

AND  HE  could. 

*  *    * 

AND  DID. 

*  *    • 

AND  BROUGHT  a  lot  of  flowers. 

*  *    * 

AND  A  basket  of  fruit. 

*  *     • 

AND  SAT  down. 

*  *     * 

AND  ATE  the  fruit. 

*  •    • 

AND  WAS  sorry. 

*  *     * 

I  WAS  sick. 

*  *    • 

AND  I'D  always  have  trouble. 

»     *     » 

WITH  MY  tonsils. 

»     *     » 

AND  IT  was  the  second  time. 

*  »     » 

IN  A  month. 

*  *     * 

THAT  HE  made  a  call. 

ON  A  sick  friend. 

*  *    * 


AND  THE  last  time. 

*  •     * 

IT  WAS  so  sad. 

*  *     * 

AND  THE  sick  man. 

«     «     * 

HAD  SUCH  a  nice  wife. 

*  *     * 

AND  THEY  were  so  happy. 

*  »     » 

AND  IT  was  all  so  sudden. 

*  *     * 

AND  AFTERWARD. 

*  »    * 

IT  WAS  discovered. 

*  *    • 

HE'D  LEFT  no  will. 

*  *     * 

AND  THE  poor  wife. 

*  *     * 

HE  FELT  so  sorry  for  her. 

*  »     * 

IT  WAS  an  awful  mess. 

*  *     * 

AND  IT  was  a  shame. 

*  •     * 

FOR  ANY  man. 

*  »    • 

TO  BE  careless. 

*  *     • 

YOU  NEVER  can  tell. 

*  *     • 

AND  DID  I  like  flowers. 

»     •    * 

AND  I  did. 

*  *    * 

AND  HE  was  so  glad. 

»     *     * 

HE  ALWAYS  bought  his. 

*  *    * 

AT  THE  little  stand. 

*  *     * 

AT  THE  Hoyt  street  subway. 

*  *     * 

HE  WAS  such  a  nice  man. 

*  *    • 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


105 


AND  SO  reasonable. 

*  *     * 

AND  ONLY  a  month  ago. 

*  *    * 

HE'D  BOUGHT  a  big  wreath. 

*  *    * 

OF  WHITE  carnations. 

*  *     * 

WITH  "REST  in  Peace." 

*  *    * 

IN  VIOLETS. 

*  •    * 

ACROSS  THE  front. 

AND  ALL  the  man  charged. 

*  *    * 

WAS  SEVEN  dollars. 

*  *     * 

AND  IT  was  such  a  nice  wreath. 

*  *    * 

AND  I  said:  "Yes. 

*  *     * 

"IF  YOU'LL  excuse  me. 

*  •    * 

"I  HAVE  to  gargle." 

*  *    * 

AND  WENT  into  the  bathroom. 

*  *     • 

AND  GARGLED. 

*  *    • 

AND  WHEN  I  came  back. 

*  *    * 

MY  WIFE  was  crying. 

*  *     * 

HE'D  BEEN  telling  her  something. 

*  *    * 

ABOUT  A  man. 

»     »    * 

WHO  HAD  tonsilitis. 

*  •    * 

AND  GOT  poisoned  or  something. 

*  •     * 

AND  DIED. 

*  *    • 

AND  I  went  right  back. 

*  *    » 


INTO  THE  bathroom. 

*  *     * 

AND  GARGLED. 

*  »    * 


TILL  HE  left. 

I  THANK  you. 
KENNETH  C.  BEATON. 

The  End  of  a  Perfect  Call 


L'ENVOI  OF  THE  CUBISTS 

When   the  last  Impression  is  posted 
and    the    tubes    are    twisted     and 
pinched, 
When  the  youngest  Cubist  is  throttled 

and  the  oldest  Futurist  lynched, 
We  shall  rest,  and,  gee !  we  shall  need 

•it — come  off  for  a  minute  or  two, 
Till   the  masters   of  all   this   rubbish 
shall  set  us  agog  anew. 

Then   those   that   were    Cubists    shall 

worry;  they  shall  sit  on  a  picket 

fence 
And  paint  with  a  vacuum  cleaner  on 

the  sides  of  canvas  tents. 
They  shall  have  real  models  to  draw 

from — a  nude  in  a  crazy  quilt, 
Or  a   maudlin,  rhomboid  Scotchman, 

descending  the  stairs  in  his  kilt. 

And  only  Picasso  shall  praise  them, 

and  only  Matisse  shall  blame; 
And  no  one  shall  care  for  censure,  and 

no  one  shall  care  for  shame. 
But  each  in  his  own  straitjacket  and 

each  in  his  separate  cell 
Shall  slather  the  paint  as  he  sees  it, 

for  the  glory  of  Art  that  won't  jell. 

Now  this  was  written  today — 


106 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


BALLADE  CRYING  ART  TO  STOP 
HER  NONSENSE 

Since  Literature  laughs  and  gets  fat 

Where  adjectives  grow  upon  trees — 
Since  in  Art  the  same  bellow  and  blat 

Is  accounted  Maestro's  decrees; 

Modernity  falls  on  her  knees 
And  salaams  in  worshipful  pose 

To — pardon     the    phrase,     if    you 

please — 

The  One  Who  Squirts  Paint  with  a 
Hose. 

You  may  slobber  and  smear,  and  cry, 
scat! 

To  the  canons  of  decency's  pleas, 
Your  brain  may  be  cauldron  or  vat, 

rermenting  microbical  lees, 

Ah!  cretinous  Gentlemen,  these, 
Who  babble  in  Art! — but  it  goes, 

As  long  as  behind  it  Art  sees, 
The  One  Who  Squirts  Paint  with  a 
Hose. 

The  Good  Folk  are  wondering  that 

We  tire  not  of  Art  in  Disease; 
Let  Bedlam  recover  her  brat, 

Begotten  of  Sewers  and  Seas. 

This  chording  of  clangorous  keys 
Is  music  to  some,  I  suppose, 

For  all  that,  let  Acheron  seize 
The  One  Who  Squirts  Paint  with  a 
Hose. 

ENVOY 

Oh,  Art!  thou  Camille  with  a  wheeze, 

We  pray  you  the  Villain  expose — 
The  one  who  betrayed  you — for  He's 
The  One  Who  Squirts  Paint  with  a 
Hose. 

EUGENE  R.  WHITE. 

And  this,  twenty  years  ago.    Verily, 
there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun. 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  love 
The  canvases  of  Mr.  Dove, 
Which  Saturday  I  went  to  see 
In  Mr.  Thurber's  gallery. 

At  first  you  fancy  they  are  built 
As  patterns  for  a  crazy  quilt, 
But  soon  you  see  that  they  express 
An  ambient  simultaneousness. 

This  thing  which  you  would  almost  bet 
Portrays  a  Spanish  omelette, 
Depicts  instead,  with  wondrous  skill, 
A  horse  and  cart  upon  a  hill. 

Now,  Mr.  Dove  has  too  much  art 
To  show  the  horse  or  show  the  cart ; 
Instead,  he  paints  the  creak  and  strain, 
Get  it?    No  pike  is  half  as  plain. 

This  thing  which  would  appear  to  show 

A  fancy  vest  scenario, 

Is  really  quite  another  thing, 

A  flock  of  pigeons  on  the  wing. 

But  Mr.  Dove  is  much  too  keen 
To  let  a  single  bird  be  seen; 
To  show  the  pigeons  would  not  do 
And  so  he  simply  paints  the  coo. 

It's  all  as  simple  as  can  be; 
He  paints  the  things  you  cannot  see, 
Just  as  composers  please  the  ear 
With  "programme"  things  you  cannot 
hear. 

Dove  is  the  cleverest  of  chaps; 
And,  gazing  at  his  rhythmic  maps, 
I  wondered  (and  I'm  wondering  yet), 
Whether  he  did  them  on  a  bet. 

BERT  LESTON  TAYLOR. 

One  must  admire  an  artist  who  can 
paint  the  creak  and  strain  and  coo. 


WILD  FLOWERS 

"Of  what  are  you  afraid,   my  child?" 

Inquired  the  kindly  teacher. 
"Oh,   sir!      The   flowers,   they    are   wild,'' 

Replied  the  timid  creature. 

Peter  Newell. 


Though  other  artists  oft  may  do  well, 
There's  no  one  just  like  Peter  Newell; 
And  in  the  art  of  gentle  jest, 
He  is,  I  think,  about  the  best. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


107 


STYX  RIVER  ANTHOLOGY 

ALICE  BEN   BOLT 

I  couldn't  help  weeping  with  delight 
When  the  boys  kissed  me  and  called  me 

sweet. 

It  was  foolish,  I  know, 
To  weep  when  I  was  glad; 
But  I  was  young  and  I  wasn't  very 

well. 

I  was  nervous,  weak,  anemic, 
A  sort  of  human  mimosa;  and  I  hadn't 

much  brains, 

And  my  mind  wouldn't  jell,  anyhow. 
That's  why  I  trembled  with  fear  when 

they  frowned. 

But  they  didn't  frown  often, 
For  I  was  sweetly  pretty  and  most 

pliable. 
But,  oh,  the  grim  joke  of  asking  Ben 

Bolt  if  he  remembered  me ! 
Me! 

Why,  it  was  Ben  Bolt  who — 
Well,  never  mind.     He  paid  for  this 

granite  slab, 
And  it's  as  stylish  as  any  in  the  church 

yard. 
But  I  wish  I  had  a  more  becoming 

shroud. 

THE  BLESSED  DAMOZEL 

I  was  one  of  those  long,  lanky,  loose- 
jointed  girls 

Who  fool  people  into  believing 

They  are  willowy  and  psychic  and 
mysterious. 

I  was  always  hungry;  I  never  ate 
enough  to  satisfy  me, 

For  fear  I'd  get  fat. 

Oh,  how  little  the  world  knows  of  the 
bitterness  of  life 

To  a  woman  who  tries  to  keep  thinl 

Many  thought  I  died  of  a  broken 
heart, 


But  it  was  an  empty  stomach. 
Then  Mr.  Rossetti  wrote  about  me. 
He  described  me  all  dolled  up  in  some 

ladies'  wearing  apparel 
That  I  wore  at  a  fancy  ball. 
I  had  fasted  all  day,  and  had  had  my 

hair  marcelled 
And  my  face  corrected. 
And  I  was  a  dream. 
But  he  seemed  to  think  he  really  saw 

me, 
Seemed  to  think  I   appeared  to   him 

after  my  death. 
Oh,  fudge! 
Those  spiritualists   are  always   seeing 

things ! 

ENOCH   ARDEN 

Yes,  it  was  the  eternal  triangle, 
Only  they  didn't  call  it  that  then. 
Of  course  everybody  thought  I  was  all 

broken  up 

When  I  found  Annie  wed  to  Philip, 
But,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  didn't  care  so  much; 
For  she  was  one  of  those  self -starting 

weepers, 
And  a  man  can't  stand  blubbering  all 

the  time. 

And,  then,  of  course, 
When  I  was  off  on  that  long  sea  trip — 
Oh,  well,  you  know  what  sailors  are. 

LITTLE  EVA 

To  be  honest, 
I  didn't  mind  dying, 
For  I  had 

One  of  these  here  now 
Dressy  deaths. 
It  was  staged,  you  know, 
And,  like  Samson, 
My  death  brought  down  the  house. 
I  was  a  smarty  kid, 
And  they  were  less  frequent  then  than 
later. 


108 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Oh,  I  was  the  Mary  Pickford  of  my 

time, 

And  I  rest  content 
With  my  notoriety. 

LUCY 

Yes,  I  am  in  my  grave, 

And  you  bet  it  makes  a  difference  to 

him! 
For  we  were  to  be  married, — at  least, 

I  think  we  were, 
And  he'd  made  me  promise  to  deed 

him  the  house. 

But  I  had  to  go  and  get  appendicitis, 
And  they  took  me  to  the  hospital. 
It  was  a  nice  hospital,  clean, 
And  Tables  Reserved  For  Ladies. 
Well,  my  heart  gave  out. 
He  came  and  stood  over  my  grave, 
And  registered  deep  concern. 
And  now,  he's  going  round  with  that 
Hen-minded  Hetty  What's-her-name ! 
Her  with  her  Whistler's  Mother  and 

her  Baby  Stuart 
On  her  best-room  wall ! 
And   I  hate  her,   and  I'm  glad   she 

squints. 

Well,  I  suppose  I  lived  my  life, 
But  it  was  Life  in  name  only. 
And  I'm  mad  at  the  whole  world ! 

OPHELIA 

No,  it  wasn't  suicide, 

But  I  had  heard  so  much  of  those  mud 

baths, 

I  thought  I'd  try  one. 
Ugh !  it  was  a  mess ! 
Weeds,  slime,  and  tangled  vines!    Oh, 

me! 

Had  I  been  Annette  Kellerman 
Or  even  a  real  mermaid, 
I  had  lived  to  tell  the  tale. 
But  I  slid  down  and  under, 
And  so  Will  Shaxpur  told  it  for  me. 


Just  as  well. 

But  I  think  my  death  scene  is  unex- 
celled 

By  any  in  cold  print. 

It  beats  that  scrawny,  red-headed  old 
thing  of  Tom  Hood's 

All  hollow! 

CASABLANCA 

I  played  to  the  Grand  Stand! 

Sure  I  did, 

And  I  made  good. 

Ain't  I  in  McGuffey's  Third  Reader? 

Don't  they  speak  pieces  about  me  Fri- 
day afternoons? 

Don't  everybody  know  the  first  two 
lines  of  my  story, — 

And  no  more? 

Say,  I  was  there  with  the  goods, 

Wasn't  I? 

And  it  paid. 

But  I  wish  Movin*  Pitchers  had  been 
invented  then! 

ANNABEL  LEE 

They  may  say  all  they  like 

About  germs  and  micro-crocuses, — 

Or  whatever  they  are! 

But  my  set  opinion  is, — 

If  you  want  to  get  a  good,  old-fash* 

ioned  chills  and  fever, 
Just  poke  around 

In  a  damp,  messy  place  by  the  sea, 
Without  rubbers  on. 
A  good  cold  wind, 
Blowing  out  of  a  cloud,  by  night, 
Will  give  you  a  harder  shaking  ague 
Than  all  the  bacilli  in  the  Basilica. 
It  did  me. 

ANGUS   MCPHAIRSON 

Oh,  of  course, 

It's  always  some  dratted  petticoat ! 

Just  because  that  little  flibbertigibbet, 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


109 


Annie  Laurie 

Had  a  white  throat  and  a  blue  e'e, 
She   played   the  very  devil  with  my 

peace  of  mind. 
She'd  dimple  at  me 
Till  I  was  aboot  crazy; 
And  then  laugh  at  me  through  her 

dimples ! 

She  was  my  bespoke. 
And  I'd  beg  her  to  have  the  banns 

called, — 

But  there  was  no  pinning  her  down. 
Well,  she  was  so  bonny 
That  like  a  fool,  I  said  I'd  lay  me  doon 
And  dee  for  her. 
And, — like  a  fool, — 
I  did. 

CAROLYN  WELLS. 

The  ones  Mr.  Masters  forgot. 


THE  NEO-NEOISM 

I  have  been  paying  attention 
To  the  various  movements  in  Art, 
In  Fiction  and  Poetry,  particularly. 
Most  of  them  I  am  unable  to  imitate, 

even  if  I  cared  to  do  so. 
Some  of  them  are  sincere; 
Most  of  them  are  phony. 
Frank  discussions  of  human  relations 
Is  a  fine  thing;  I  am  for  it. 
But   Art   for    Obstetrics'    sake,    that, 

Mawruss, 

Is  something  else  again. 
As  to  the  New  Poetry,  should  you  ask 

me, 

I  should  answer  No. 
Briefly,  and  in  a  word,  NO ! 
Henley  could  do  it,  but  Witter  Bynner 

and  Amy  Lowell  can't. 
Neither  can  I. 

FRANKLIN  P.  ADAMS. 

Many  a  true  jest  spoken  in  words. 


THE  MESSED  DAMOZEL 
At  the  Cubist  Exhibition 

The  Messed  Damozel  leaned  out 

From  the  gold  cube  of  Heav'n; 
There    were   three    cubes    within    her 

hands, 
And   the   cubes   in   her   hair   were 

seven ; 
I  looked,  and  looked,  and  looked,  and 

looked — 
I  could  not  see  her,  even. 


Her  robe,  a  cube  from  clasp  to  hem, 

Was  moderately  clear; 
Methought  I  saw  two  cubic  eyes, 

When  I  had  looked  a  year; 
But  when  I  turned  to  tell  the  world, 

Those  eyes  did  disappear ! 


It  was  the  rampart  of  some  house 
That  she  was  standing  on; 

That  much,  at  least,  was  plain  to  me 
As  her  I  gazed  upon; 

But  even  as  I  gazed,  alas! 
The  rampart,  too,  was  gone! 


(I  saw  her  smile!)    Oh,  no,  I  didn't, 
Though  long  mine  eyes  did  stare ; 
The  cubes  closed  down  and  shut  her 

out; 

I  wept  in  deep  despair; 
But  this  I  know,  and  know  full  well — 
She  simply  wasn't  there  I 

CHARLES  HANSON  TOWNE. 


He  saw  he  couldn't  see  her,  which 
was  surely  seeing  some. 


110  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


ELLEN  McJONES  ABERDEEN 

Macphairson  Clonglocketty  Angus  McClan 

Was  the  son  of  an  elderly  labouring  man; 

You've  guessed  him  a  Scotchman,  shrewd  reader,  at  sight, 

And  pVaps  altogether,  shrewd  reader,  you're  right. 

From  the  bonnie  blue  Forth  to  the  beastly  Deeside, 

Round  by  Dingwall  and  Wrath  to  the  mouth  of  the  Clyde, 

There  wasn't  a  child  or  a  woman  or  man 

Who  could  pipe  with  Clonglocketty  Angus  McClan. 

No  other  could  wake  such  detestable  groans, 

With  reed  and  with  chaunter — with  bag  and  with  drones: 

All  day  and  all  night  he  delighted  the  chiels 

With  sniggering  pibrochs  and  jiggety  reels. 

He'd  clamber  a  mountain  and  squat  on  the  ground, 
And  the  neighbouring  maidens  would  gather  around 
To  list  to  his  pipes  and  to  gaze  in  his  een, 
Especially  Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen. 

All  loved  their  McClan,  save  a  Sassenach  brute, 
Who  came  to  the  Highlands  to  fish  and  to  shoot; 
He  dressed  himself  up  in  a  Highlander  way; 
Tho'  his  name  it  was  Pattison  Corby  Torbay. 

Torbay  had  incurred  a  good  deal  of  expense 
To  make  him  a  Scotchman  in  every  sense; 
But  this  is  a  matter,  you'll  readily  own, 
That  isn't  a  question  of  tailors  alone. 

A  Sassenach  chief  may  be  bonily  built, 
He  may  purchase  a  sporran,  a  bonnet,  and  kilt; 
Stick  a  skean  in  his  hose — wear  an  acre  of  stripes — » 
But  he  cannot  assume  an  affection  for  pipes. 

Clonglocketty's  pipings  all  night  and  all  day 
Quite  frenzied  poor  Pattison  Corby  Torbay; 
The  girls  were  amused  at  his  singular  spleen, 
Especially  Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen. 

"Macphairson  Clonglocketty  Angus,  my  lad, 
With  pibrochs  and  reels  you  are  driving  me  mad. 
If  you  really  must  play  on  that  cursed  affair, 
My  goodness !  play  something  resembling  an  air." 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  Ill 


Boiled  over  the  blood  of  Macphairson  McClan — 
The  Clan  of  Clonglocketty  rose  as  one  man; 
For  all  were  enraged  at  the  insult,  I  ween — 
Especially  Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen. 

"Let's  show,"  said  McClan,  "to  this  Sassenach  loon 
That  the  bagpipes  can  play  him  a  regular  tune. 
Let's  see,"  said  McClan,  as  he  thoughtfully  sat, 
"  'In  my  Cottage'  is  easy — I'll  practise  at  that." 

He  blew  at  his  "Cottage,"  and  blew  with  a  will, 
For  a  year,  seven  months,  and  a  fortnight,  until 
(You'll  hardly  believe  it)  McClan,  I  declare, 
Elicited  something  resembling  an  air. 

It  was  wild — it  was  fitful — as  wild  as  the  breeze — 
It  wandered  about  into  several  keys; 
It  was  jerky,  spasmodic,  and  harsh,  I'm  aware; 
But  still  it  distinctly  suggested  an  air. 

The  Sassenach  screamed,  and  the  Sassenach  danced; 
He  shrieked  in  his  agony — bellowed  and  pranced; 
And  the  maidens  who  gathered  rejoiced  at  the  scene, 
Especially  Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen. 

"Hech  gather,  hech  gather,  hech  gather  around; 
And  fill  a'  ye  lungs  wi'  the  exquisite  sound. 
An  air  fra'  the  bagpipes — beat  that  if  ye  can: 
Hurrah  for  Clonglocketty  Angus  McClan!" 

The  fame  of  his  piping  spread  over  the  land: 
Respectable  widows  proposed  for  his  hand, 
And  maidens  came  flocking  to  sit  on  the  green- 
Especially  Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen. 

One  morning  the  fidgety  Sassenach  swore 
He'd  stand  it  no  longer — he  drew  his  claymore, 
And  (this  was,  I  think,  extremely  bad  taste) 
Divided  Clonglocketty  close  to  the  waist. 

Oh!  loud  were  the  wailings  for  Angus  McClan, 
Oh !  deep  was  the  grief  for  that  excellent  man — 
The  maids  stood  aghast  at  the  horrible  scene, 
Especially  Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen. 

It  sorrowed  poor  Pattison  Corby  Torbay 
To  find  them  "take  on"  in  this  serious  way; 


112 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


He  pitied  the  poor  little  fluttering  birds, 

And  solaced  their  souls  with  the  following  words: — 

"Oh,  maidens,"  said  Pattison,  touching  his  hat, 
"Don't  blubber,  my  dears,  for  a  fellow  like  that; 
Observe,  I'm  a  very  superior  man, 
A  much  better  fellow  than  Angus  Median." 

They  smiled  when  he  winked  and  addressed  them  as  "dears," 
And  they  all  of  them  vowed,  as  they  dried  up  their  tears, 
A  pleasanter  gentleman  never  was  seen — 
Especially  Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen. 

WILLIAM  S.  GILBERT. 

There's  a  lot  in  the  tale,  and  still  more  in  the  tellin' 
Of  the  canny,  observant,  ubiquitous  Ellen. 


SOME  LITTLE  BUG 

In  these  days  of  indigestion 
It  is  oftentimes  a  question 
As  to  what  to  eat  and  what  to  leave 

alone ; 

For  each  microbe  and  bacillus 
Has  a  different  way  to  kill  us, 

And  in  time  they  always  claim  us 

for  their  own. 

There  are  germs  of  every  kind 
In  any  food  that  you  can  find 

In  the  market  or  upon  the  bill  of 

fare. 

Drinking  water's  just  as  risky 
As  the  so-called  deadly  whiskey, 
And  it's  often  a  mistake  to  breathe 
the  air. 

Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 

some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you 

some  day, 

Then  he'll  send  for  his  bug  friends 
And  all  your  earthly  trouble  ends; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 
some  day. 

The  inviting  green  cucumber 
Gets  most  everybody's  number, 


While  the  green  corn  has  a  system  of 

its  own; 

Though  a  radish  seems  nutritious 
Its  behaviour  is  quite  vicious, 

And  a  doctor  will  be  coming  to  your 

home. 

Eating  lobster  cooked  or  plain 
Is  only  flirting  with  ptomaine, 

While  an  oyster  sometimes  has  a  lot 

to  say, 

But  the  clams  we  eat  in  chowder 
Make  the  angels  chant  the  louder, 
For  they  know  that  we'll  be  with 
them  right  away. 

Take  a  slice  of  nice  fried  onion 
And  you're  fit  for  Dr.  Munyon, 

Apple  dumplings  kill  you   quicker 

than  a  train. 

Chew  a  cheesy  midnight  "rabbit" 
And  a  grave  you'll  soon  inhabit — 
Ah,  to  eat  at  all  is  such  a  foolish 

game. 

Eating  huckleberry  pie 
Is  a  pleasing  way  to  die, 

While  sauerkraut  brings  on  soften- 
ing of  the  brain. 
When  you  e?!  banana  fritters 
Every  undertaker  titters, 
And  the  casket  makers  nearly  go  in- 
sane. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


113 


Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 

some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you 

same  day, 

With  a  nervous  little  quiver 
He'll  give  cirrhosis  of  the  liver; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 
some  day. 

When  cold  storage  vaults  I  visit 
I  can  only  say  what  is  it 

Makes  poor  mortals  fill  their  systems 

with  such  stuff? 

Now,  for  breakfast,  prunes  are  dandy 
If  a  stomach  pump  is  handy 

And  your  doctor  can  be  found  quite 

soon  enough. 

Eat  a  plate  of  fine  pigs'  knuckles 
And  the  head  stone  cutter  chuckles, 
While  the  grave  digger  makes  a  note 

upon  his  cuff. 

Eat  that  lovely  red  bologna 
And  you'll  wear  a  wooden  kimona, 
As   your   relatives   start   scrapping 

'bout  your  stuff. 

Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 

some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you 

some  day, 

Eating  juicy  sliced  pineapple 
Makes  the  sexton  dust  the  chapel; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 
some  day. 

All  those  crazy  foods  they  mix 
Will  float  us  'cross  the  River  Styx, 

Or  they'll  start  us  climbing  up  the 

milky  way. 

And  the  meals  we  eat  in  courses 
Mean  a  hearse  and  two  black  horses 

So  before  a  meal  some  people  always 

pray. 

Luscious  grapes  breed  'pendicitis, 
And  the  juice  leads  to  gastritis, 


So  there's  only  death  to  greet  us 

either  way; 

And  fried  liver's  nice,  but,  mind  you, 
Friends  will  soon  ride  slow  behind  you 
And  the  papers  then  will  have  nice 
things  to  say. 


Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 

some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you 

some  day 

Eat  some  sauce,  they  call  it  chili, 
On  your  breast  they'll  place  a  lily; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you 
some  day. 

ROT  ATWELL. 


Man  that's  born  of  woman  is  of  few 
days  and  full  of  sorrow. 


The  Storm. 


114 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  FABLE  OF  THE  TWO  MAN- 
DOLIN PLAYERS  AND  THE 
WILLING  PERFORMER 

A  very  attractive  Debutante  knew 
two  Young  Men  who  called  on  her 
every  Thursday  Evening,  and  brought 
their  Mandolins  along. 

They  were  Conventional  Young 
Men,  of  the  Kind  that  you  see  wear- 
ing Spring  Overcoats  in  the  Clothing 
Advertisements.  One  was  named 
Fred,  and  the  other  was  Eustace. 

The  Mothers  of  the  Neighbourhood 
often  remarked,  "What  Perfect  Man- 
ners Fred  and  Eustace  have  I"  Mere- 
ly as  an  aside  it  may  be  added  that 
Fred  and  Eustace  were  more  Popular 
with  the  Mothers  than  they  were  with 
the  Younger  Set,  although  no  one  could 
say  a  Word  against  either  of  them. 
Only  it  was  rumoured  in  Keen  Society 
that  they  didn't  Belong.  The  Fact 
that  they  went  Calling  in  a  Crowd, 
and  took  their  Mandolins  along,  may 
give  the  Acute  Reader  some  Idea  of 
the  Life  that  Fred  and  Eustace  held 
out  to  the  Young  Women  of  their 
Acquaintance. 

The  Debutante's  name  was  Myrtle. 
Her  Parents  were  very  Watchful,  and 
did  not  encourage  her  to  receive  Call- 
ers, except  such  as  were  known  to  be 
Exemplary  Young  Men.  Fred  and 
Eustace  were  a  few  of  those  who  es- 
caped the  Black  List.  Myrtle  always 
appeared  to  be  glad  to  see  them,  and 
they  regarded  her  as  a  Darned  Swell 
Girl. 

Fred's  Cousin  came  from  St.  Paul 
on  a  Visit ;  and  one  Day,  in  the  Street, 
he  saw  Myrtle,  and  noticed  that  Fred 
tipped  his  Hat,  and  gave  her  a  Stage 
Smile. 

"Oh,  Queen  of  Sheba!"  exclaimed 
the  Cousin  from  St.  Paul,  whose  name 


was  Gus,  as  he  stood  stock  still,  and 
watched  Myrtle's  Reversible  Plaid  dis- 
appear around  a  Corner.  "She's  a 
Bird.  Do  you  know  her  well?" 

"I  know  her  Quite  Well,"  replied 
Fred,  coldly.  "She  is  a  Charming 
Girl." 

"She  is  all  of  that.  You're  a  great 
Describer.  And  now  what  Night  are 
you  going  to  take  me  around  to  Call 
on  her?" 

Fred  very  naturally  Hemmed  and 
Hawed.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
Myrtle  was  a  member  of  an  Excellent 
Family,  and  had  been  schooled  in  the 
Proprieties,  and  it  was  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  she  would  crave  the  Society 
of  slangy  old  Gus,  who  had  an  abound- 
ing Nerve,  and  furthermore  was  as 
Fresh  as  the  Mountain  Air. 

He  was  the  Kind  of  Fellow  who 
would  see  a  Girl  twice,  and  then,  upon 
meeting  her  the  Third  Time,  he  would 
go  up  and  straighten  her  Cravat  for 
her,  and  call  her  by  her  First  Name. 

Put  him  into  a  Strange  Company — 
en  route  to  a  Picnic — and  by  the  time 
the  Baskets  were  unpacked  he  would 
have  a  Blonde  all  to  himself,  and  she 
would  have  traded  her  Fan  for  his 
College  Pin. 

If  a  Fair-Looker  on  the  Street  hap- 
pened to  glance  at  him  Hard  he  would 
run  up  and  seize  her  by  the  Hand,  and 
convince  her  that  they  had  Met.  And 
he  always  Got  Away  with  it,  too. 

In  a  Department  Store,  while  wait- 
ing for  the  Cash  Boy  to  come  back 
with  the  Change,  he  would  find  out 
the  Girl's  Name,  her  Favourite  Flower, 
and  where  a  Letter  would  reach  her. 

Upon  entering  a  Parlor  Car  at  St. 
Paul  he  would  select  a  Chair  next  to 
the  Most  Promising  One  in  Sight,  and 
ask  her  if  she  cared  to  have  the  Shade 
lowered. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


115 


Before  the  Train  cleared  the  Yards 
he  would  have  the  Porter  bringing  a 
Foot-Stool  for  the  Lady. 

At  Hastings  he  would  be  asking  her 
if  she  wanted  Something  to  Read. 

At  Red  Wing  he  would  be  telling 
her  that  she  resembled  Maxine  Elliott, 
and  showing  her  his  Watch,  left  to  him 
by  his  Grandfather,  a  Prominent  Vir- 
ginian. 

At  La  Crosse  he  would  be  reading 
the  Menu  Card  to  her,  and  telling  her 
how  different  it  is  when  you  have 
Some  One  to  join  you  in  a  Bite. 

At  Milwaukee  he  would  go  out  and 
buy  a  Bouquet  for  her,  and  when 
they  rode  into  Chicago  they  would  be 
looking  out  of  the  same  Window,  and 
he  would  be  arranging  for  her  Bag- 
gage with  the  Transfer  Man.  After 
that  they  would  be  Old  Friends. 

Now,  Fred  and  Eustace  had  been  at 
School  with  Gus,  and  they  had  seen 
his  Work,  and  they  were  not  disposed 
to  Introduce  him  into  One  of  the  most 
Exclusive  Homes  in  the  City. 

They  had  known  Myrtle  for  many 
Years;  but  they  did  not  dare  to  Ad- 
dress her  by  her  First  Name,  and  they 
were  Positive  that  if  Gus  attempted 
any  of  his  usual  Tactics  with  her  she 
would  be  Offended;  and,  naturally 
enough,  they  would  be  Blamed  for 
bringing  him  to  the  House. 

But  Gus  insisted.  He  said  he  had 
seen  Myrtle,  and  she  Suited  him  from 
the  Ground  up,  and  he  proposed  to 
have  Friendly  Doings  with  her.  At 
last  they  told  him  they  would  take 
him  if  he  promised  to  Behave.  Fred 
warned  him  that  Myrtle  would  frown 
down  any  Attempt  to  be  Familiar  on 
Short  Acquaintance,  and  Eustace  said 
that  as  long  as  he  had  known  Myrtle 
he  had  never  Presumed  to  be  Free  and 
Forward  with  her.  He  had  simply 


played  the  Mandolin.  That  was  as 
Far  Along  as  he  had  ever  got. 

Gus  told  them  not  to  Worry  about 
him.  All  he  asked  was  a  Start.  He 
said  he  was  a  Willing  Performer,  but 
as  yet  he  never  had  been  Disqualified 
for  Crowding.  Fred  and  Eustace  took 
this  to  mean  that  he  would  not  Over- 
play his  Attentions,  so  they  escorted 
him  to  the  House. 

As  soon  as  he  had  been  Presented, 
Gus  showed  her  where  to  sit  on  the 
Sofa,  then  he  placed  himself  about 
Six  Inches  away  and  began  to  Buzz, 
looking  her  straight  in  the  Eye.  He 
said  that  when  he  first  saw  her  he 
Mistook  her  for  Miss  Prentice,  who 
was  said  to  be  the  Most  Beautiful  Girl 
in  St.  Paul,  only,  when  he  came  closer, 
he  saw  that  it  couldn't  be  Miss  Pren- 
tice, because  Miss  Prentice  didn't  have 
such  Lovely  Hair.  Then  he  asked  her 
the  Month  of  her  Birth  and  told  her 
Fortune,  thereby  coming  nearer  to 
Holding  her  Hand  within  Eight  Min- 
utes than  Eustace  had  come  in  a 
Lifetime. 

"Play  something,  Boys,"  he  Ordered, 
just  as  if  he  had  paid  them  Money  to 
come  along  and  make  Music  for  him. 

They  unlimbered  their  Mandolins 
and  began  to  play  a  Sousa  March.  He 
asked  Myrtle  if  she  had  seen  the  New 
Moon.  She  replied  that  she  had  not, 
so  they  went  Outside. 

When  Fred  and  Eustace  finished 
the  first  Piece,  Gus  appeared  at  the 
open  Window,  and  asked  them  to  play 
"The  Georgia  Camp-Meeting,"  which 
had  always  been  one  of  his  Favourites. 

So  they  played  that,  and  when  they 
had  Concluded  there  came  a  Voice  from 
the  Outer  Darkness,  and  it  was  the 
Voice  of  Myrtle.  She  said:  "I'll  tell 
you  what  to  Play;  play  the  Inter- 
mezzo." 


116 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Fred  and  Eustace  exchanged 
Glances.  They  began  to  Perceive  that 
they  had  been  backed  into  a  Siding. 
With  a  few  Potted  Palms  in  front  of 
them,  and  two  Cards  from  the  Union, 
they  would  have  been  just  the  same  as 
a  Hired  Orchestra. 

But  they  played  the  Intermezzo  and 
felt  Peevish.  Then  they  went  to  the 
Window  and  looked  out.  Gus  and 
Myrtle  were  sitting  in  the  Hammock, 
which  had  quite  a  Pitch  toward  the 
Centre.  Gus  had  braced  himself  by 
Holding  to  the  back  of  the  Hammock. 
He  did  not  have  his  Arm  around 
Myrtle,  but  he  had  it  Extended  in  a 
Line  parallel  with  her  Back.  What 
he  had  done  wouldn't  Justify  a  Girl  in 
saying,  "Sir!"  but  it  started  a  Real 
Scandal  with  Fred  and  Eustace.  They 


saw  that  the  only  Way  to  Get  Even 
with  her  was  to  go  Home  without  say- 
ing "Good  Night."  So  they  slipped 
out  the  Side  Door,  shivering  with  in- 
dignation. 

After  that,  for  several  Weeks,  Gus 
kept  Myrtle  so  Busy  that  she  had  no 
Time  to  think  of  considering  other 
Candidates.  He  sent  Books  to  her 
Mother,  and  allowed  the  Old  Gentle- 
man to  take  Chips  away  from  him  at 
Poker. 

They  were  Married  in  the  Autumn, 
and  Father-in-Law  took  Gus  into  the 
Firm,  saying  that  he  had  needed  a  good 
Pusher  for  a  Long  Time. 

At  the  Wedding  the  two  Mandolin 
Players  were  permitted  to  act  as 
Ushers. 

MORAL  :  To  get  a  fair  Trial  of  Speed, 
use  a  Pace-Maker. 

GEORGE  ADE. 

Can  you  beat  it? 


A  TALE  OF  THE  TROPICS 

Oh,  once  there  was  a  gentleman  resid- 
ing in  a  tropic 

Who  had  delightful  impulses,  humane 
and  philanthropic. 


One  day,  when  he  went  out  to  walk,  he 

said,  conventions  flouting, 
"I'll  take  this  chance  to  give  my  pet 

orang-outang  an  outing!" 


And  now,  although  I  hate  to  drop  this 

interesting  topic, 
That's  all  I  know   of  this   old  man, 

humane  and  philanthropic. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  117 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CAM-U-EL 
An  Arabian  Apologue 

Across  the  sands  of  Syria, 

Or,  possibly,  Algeria, 
Or  some  benighted  neighbourhood  of  barrenness  and  drouth, 

There  came  the  Prophet  Sam-u-el 

Upon  the  Only  Cam-u-el — 
A  bumpy,  grumpy  Quadruped  of  discontented  mouth. 

The  atmosphere  was  glutinous; 

The  Cam-u-el  was  mutinous; 
He  dumped  the  pack  from  off  his  back ;  with  horrid  grunts  and  squeals 

He  made  the  desert  hideous; 

With  strategy  perfidious 
He  tied  his  neck  in  curlicues,  he  kicked  his  paddy  heels. 

Then  quoth  the  gentle  Sam-u-el, 

"You  rogue,  I  ought  to  lam  you  well ! 
Though  zealously  I've  shielded  you  from  every  grief  ^nd  woe, 

It  seems,  to  voice  a  platitude, 

You  haven't  any  gratitude. 
I'd  like  to  hear  what  cause  you  have  for  doing  thus  and  so!" 

To  him  replied  the  Cam-u-el, 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sam-u-el. 
I  know  that  I'm  a  Reprobate,  I  know  that  I'm  a  Freak; 

But,  oh!  this  utter  loneliness! 

My  too-distinguished  Onliness! 
Were  there  but  other  Cam-u-els  I  wouldn't  be  Unique." 

The  Prophet  beamed  beguilingly. 

"Aha,"  he  answered,  smilingly, 
"You  feel  the  need  of  company?  I  clearly  understand. 

We'll  speedily  create  for  you 

The  corresponding  mate  for  you — 
Ho!  presto,  change-o,  dinglebat!" — he  waved  a  potent  hand, 

And,  lo!  from  out  Vacuity 

A  second  Incongruity, 
To  wit,  a  Lady  Cam-u-el  was  born  through  magic  art. 

Her  structure  anatomical, 

Her  form  and  face  were  comical; 
She  was,  in  short,  a  Cam-u-el,  the  other's  counterpart. 


118  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


As  Spaniards  gaze  on  Aragon, 

Upon  that  Female  Paragon 
So  gazed  the  Prophet's  Cam-u-el,  that  primal  Desert  Ship. 

A  connoisseur  meticulous, 

He  found  her  that  ridiculous 
He  grinned  from  ear  to  auricle  until  he  split  his  lip! 

Because  of  his  temerity 

That  Cam-u-el's  posterity 
Must  wear  divided  upper  lips  through  all  their  solemn  lives! 

A  prodigy  astonishing 

Reproachfully  admonishing 
Those  wicked,  heartless  married  men  who  ridicule  their  wives. 

ARTHUR  GTJITERMAN. 

It's  fortunate  that  Adam  had  more  self-control. 


OULD  DOCTOR  MACK 

Ye  may  tramp  the  world  over 

From  Delhi  to  Dover, 
And  sail  the  salt  say  from  Archangel  to  Arragon, 

Circumvint  back 

Through  the  whole  Zodiack, 
But  to  ould  Docther  Mack  ye  can't  furnish  a  paragon. 

Have  ye  the  dropsy, 

The  gout,  the  autopsy? 
Fresh  livers  and  limbs  instantaneous  he'll  shape  yez, 

No  ways  infarior 

In  skill,  but  suparior, 
And  lineal  postarior  to  Ould  Aysculapius. 

Chorus 

He  and  his  wig  wid  the  curls  so  carroty, 
Aigle  eye,  and  complexion  clarety: 

Here's  to  his  health, 

Honour  and  wealth, 
The  king  of  his  kind  and  the  crame  of  all  charity! 

How  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
To  consult  for  a  cure, 

Crowd  on  to  his  doore  in  their  carts  and  their  carriages, 
Showin'  their  tongues 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  119 


Or  unlacin'  their  lungs, 

For  divle  one  symptom  the  docther  disparages. 

Troth,  an'  he'll  tumble, 

For  high  or  for  humble, 
From  his  warm  feather-bed  wid  no  cross  contrariety  j 

Makin'  as  light 

Of  nursin'  all  night 
The  beggar  in  rags  as  the  belle  of  society. 

Chorus — He  and  his  wig,  etc. 

And  as  if  by  a  meracle, 

Ailments  hysterical, 
Dad,  wid  one  dose  of  bread-pills  he  can  smother, 

And  quench  the  love-sickness 

Wid  wonderful  quickness, 
By  prescribin'  the  right  boys  and  girls  to  aich  other. 

And  the  sufferin'  childer — 

Your  eyes  'twould  bewilder 
To  see  the  wee  craythurs  his  coat-tails  unravelling 

And  aich  of  them  fast 

On  some  treasure  at  last, 
Well  knowin'  ould  Mack's  just  a  toy-shop  out  travellin'. 

Chorus — He  and  his  wig,  etc. 

Thin,  his  doctherin'  done, 

In  a  rollickin'  run 
Wid  the  rod  or  the  gun,  he's  the  foremost  to  figure. 

By  Jupiter  Ammon, 

What  jack-snipe  or  salmon 
E'er  rose  to  backgammon  his  tail-fly  or  trigger  I 

And  hark!  the  view-hollo! 

'Tis  Mack  in  full  follow 
On  black   "Faugh-a-ballagh"   the  country-side  sailin*. 

Och,  but  you'd  think 

'Twas  old  Nimrod  in  pink, 
Wid  his  spurs  cryin'  chink  over  park-wall  and  palitr*. 


Chorus 

He  and  his  wig  wid  the  curls  so  carroty, 
Aigle  eye,  and  complexion  clarety: 

Here's  to  his  health, 

Honour  and  wealth! 


120 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Hip,  hip,  hooray!  wid  all  hilarity, 
Hip,  hip,  hooray!     That's  the  way, 
All  at  once,  widout  disparity! 

One  more  cheer 

For  our  docther  dear, 
The  king  of  his  kind  and  the  crarae  of  all  charity. 

Hip,  hip,  hooray! 

ALFRED  PERCEVAL  GRAVES. 

A  foine  ould  Irish  gintleman. 


Tarn  o'Shanter  Dog 
cL  a  plalntix/e  piping  Trocr, 
"With  a  Cat  VHose  one  extravagance  Nvas 

clothes, 
"Vvfent  to  see  a/  Bounding  Bug 


Eance  a/  jig.  upon  a  rug, 
ome 


s  ou 

his  nose. 


White  a  Beetle  balance  cb  h 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


FOR  I  AM  SAD 

No  usual  words  can  bear  the  woe  I 
feel, 

No  tralatitions  trite  give  me  relief! 

0  Webster!  lend  me  words  to  voice 
my  grief 

Bitter  as  quassia,  quass  or  kumquat 
peel! 

For  I  am  sad  .  .  .  bound  on  the  cos- 
mic wheel, 

What  mad  chthonophagy  bids  slave 
and  chief 

Through  endless  cycles  bite  the  earth 
like  beef, 

By  turns  each  cannibal  and  each  the 
meal? 

Turn  we  to  nature  Webster,  and  we 
see 

Your  whidah  bird  refuse  all  strobile 
fruit, 

Your  tragacanth  in  tears  ooze  from 
the  tree  .  .  . 

We  hear  your  flammulated  owlets 
hoot! 

Turn  we  to  nature,  Webster,  and  we 
find 

Few  creatures  have  a  quite  contented 
mind. 

Your  koulan  there,  with  dyslogistic 
snort, 

Will  leave  his  phacoid  food  on  worts 
to  browse, 

While  glactophorous  Himalayan  cows 

The  knurled  kohl-rabi  spurn  in  un- 
couth sport; 

No  margay  climbs  margosa  trees;  the 
short 

Gray  mullet  drink  no  mulse,  nor  house 

In  pibcorns  when  the  youth  of  Wales 
carouse  .  .  . 

No  tournure  doth  the  toucan's  tail  con- 
tort .  .  . 

So  I  am  sad!  .  .  .  and  yet,  on  Sum- 
mer eves, 

When  xebecs  search  the  whishing  scree 
for  whelk, 


And  the  sharp  sorrel  lifts  obcordate 

leaves, 

And  cryptogamous  plants  fulfil  the  elk, 
I  see  the  octopus  play  with  his  feet, 
And   find   within   this   sadness   some- 
thing sweet. 

The  thing  we  like  about  that  poem 
is  its  recognition  of  all  the  sorrow  there 
is  in  the  universe  ...  its  unflinching 
recognition,  we  might  say,  if  we  were 
not  afraid  of  praising  our  own  work 
too  highly  .  .  .  combined  with  its 
happy  ending. 

One  feels,  upon  reading  it,  that,  al- 
though everything  everywhere  is  very 
sad,  and  all  wrong,  one  has  only  to 
have  patience  and  after  a  while  every- 
thing everywhere  will  be  quite  right 
and  very  sweet. 

No  matter  how  interested  one  may 
be  in  these  literary  problems,  one  must 
cease  discussing  them  at  times  or  one 
will  be  late  to  one's  meals. 

DON  MARQUIS. 

This  is  the  real  thing  in  uplift,  but 
does  it  make  us  look  up — the  words? 


A  PASTORAL  IN  POSTERS 

The  mid-day  moon  lights  up  the  rocky 

sky; 
The  great  hills  flutter  in  the  greenish 

breeze ; 

While  far  above  the  lowing  turtles  fly 
And   light    upon    the    pinky-purple 
trees. 

The  gleaming  trill  of  jagged,  feathered 
rocks 

I  hear  with  glee  as  swift  I  fly  away, 
And  over  waves  of  subtle  woolly  flocks 

Crashes  the  breaking  day. 

Ain't  Nature  wonderful  I 


122 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


POETS  AND  LINNETS 
After  Robert  Browning 

Where'er  there's  a  thistle  to  feed  a  lin- 
net 

And  linnets  are  plenty,  thistles  rife — 

Or  an  acorn-cup  to  catch  dewdrops  in 
it 

There's  ample  promise  of  further  life. 

Now,  mark  how  we  begin  it. 


For  linnets  will  follow,  if  linnets  are 

minded, 

As  blows  the  white  feather  parachute; 
And   ships   will  reel  by  the  tempest 

blinded — 
Aye,  ships  and  shiploads  of  men  to 

boot! 
How  deep  whole  fleets  you'll  find  hid. 


And  we  blow  the  thistle-down  hither 

and  thither 

Forgetful  of  linnets  and  men  and  God. 
The  dew!     For  its  want  an  oak  will 

wither — 

By  the  dull  hoof  into  the  dust  is  trod, 
And  then  who  strikes  the  cither? 


But  thistles  were  only  for  donkeys  in- 
tended, 

And  that  donkeys  are  common  enough 
is  clear; 

And  that  drop !  what  a  vessel  it  might 
have  befriended, 

Does  it  add  any  flavour  to  Glugadib's 
beer? 

Well,  there's  my  musing  ended. 

TOM  HOOD,  JR. 


Lots  of  people  couldn't  tell  this  from 
the  real  thing. 


THE  LOST  CORD 

Seated  one  day  at  the  organ, 

Was  my  monkey,  but  ill  at  ease; 
For  his  fingers  wandered  idly, 

Searching  for — what  you  please. 
I  know  not  what  I  was  playing, 

Or  what  I  was  dreaming,  quite, 
But  I  dropped  his  cord,  and  quickly, 

With  a  bound,  he  was  out  of  sight! 

With  a  bound,  he  was  out  of  sight! 

Then  forth  he  came  through  a  skylight, 

With    some    clothes    on    his    out- 
stretched arm; 
And  the  way  that  he  sought  to  wear 

them 

Had  a  touch  of  infinite  charm. 
While  riot  and  shrieks  of  sorrow 

Above,  from  a  plundered  wife, 
Recalled  the  harmonious  echo 

Of  my  discordant  life. 
The  things  perplexed  the  monkey, 

He  spoiled  them,  piece  by  piece: — 

Animate. 

I  trembled  away  in  my  silence 
For  fear  of  the  dread  police! 

Agitato. 

I  have  sought  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 

That  one  last  cord,  and   pine 
For  him,  for  the  soul  of  my  organ, 

That  vanished  ape  of  mine! 

Grandioso. 

It  may  be  my  truant  monkey 

Will  come  with  that  cord  again! 
For  it  may  be  he  only  skedaddles 

When  he  hears  the  organ-men. 
(Repeat.) 

Not    entirely   like   the    Qiwlity    of 
Mercy. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  123 


THE  PLAYED-OUT  HUMOURIST 

Quixotic  is  his  enterprise  and  hopeless  his  adventure  is, 

Who  seeks  for  jocularities  that  haven't  yet  been  said; 
The  world  has  joked  incessantly  for  over  fifty  centuries, 

And  every  joke  that's  possible  has  long  ago  been  made. 
I  started  as  a  humourist  with  lots  of  mental  fizziness, 

But  humour  is  a  drug  which  it's  the  fashion  to  abuse; 
For  my  stock-in-trade,  my  fixtures  and  the  good-will  of  the  business 

No  reasonable  offer  I  am  likely  to  refuse. 
And  if  anybody  choose 
He  may  circulate  the  news 

That  no  reasonable  offer  I  am  likely  to  refuse. 

Oh,  happy  was  that  humourist — the  first  that  made  a  pun  at  all — 

Who  when  a  joke  occurred  to  him,  however  poor  and  mean, 
Was  absolutely  certain  that  it  never  had  been  done  at  all — 

How  popular  at  dinners  must  that  humourist  have  been! 
Oh,  the  days  when  some  step-father  for  a  query  held  a  handle  out, 

The  door-mat  from  the  scraper,  is  it  distant  very  far? 
And  when  no  one  knew  where  Moses  was  when  Aaron  put  the  candle  out, 

And  no  one  had  discovered  that  a  door  could  be  a-jar ! 
But  your  modern  hearers  are 
In  their  tastes  particular, 

And  they  sneer  if  you  inform  them  that  a  door  can  be  a-jar ! 

In  search  of  quip  and  quiddity  I've  sat  all  day  alone,  apart — 

And  all  that  I  could  hit  on  as  a  problem  was — to  find 
Analogy  between  a  scrag  of  mutton  and  a  Bony-part, 

Which  offers  slight  employment  to  the  speculative  mind. 
For  you  cannot  call  it  very  good,  however  great  your  charity — 

It's  not  the  sort  of  humour  that  is  greeted  with  a  shout — 
And  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  my  mine  of  jocularity, 
In  present  Anno  Domini  is  worked  completely  out! 
Though  the  notion  you  may  scout, 
I  can  prove  beyond  a  doubt 
That  my  mine  of  jocularity  is  worked  completely  out! 

W.  S.  GILBERT. 

A^very  enjoyable  lot,  'tis  clear, 

Was  the  lot  of  the  humorous  pioneer. 


124. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  PUEPLE 
COW 

He  girded  on  his  shining  sword, 

He  clad  him  in  his  suit  of  mail, 
He  gave  his  friends  the  parting  word, 
With  high  resolve  his  face  was  pale. 
They  said,  "You've  kissed  the  Papal 

Toe, 
To  great  Moguls  you've  made  your 

bow, 
Why  will  you  thus  world-wandering 

go?" 
"I  never  saw  a  purple  cow!" 

"I  never  saw  a  purple  cow ! 

Oh,  hinder  not  my  wild  emprise — 
Let  me  depart !  For  even  now 

Perhaps,  before  some  yokel's  eyes 
The  purpling  creature  dashes  by, 

Bending  its  noble,  horned  brow. 
They  see  its  glowing  charms,  but  I — 

I  never  saw  a  purple  cow !" 

"But  other  cows  there  be,"  they  said, 

"Both  cows  of  high  and  low  degree, 
Suffolk  and  Devon,  brown,  black,  red, 

The  Ayrshire  and  the  Alderney. 
Content  yourself   with  these."     "No, 
no," 

He  cried,  "Not  these!     Not  these! 

For  how 
Can  common  kine  bring  comfort  ?    Oh ! 

I  never  saw  a  purple  cow!" 

He  flung  him  to  his  charger's  back, 
He  left  his  kindred  limp  and  weak, 
They  cried:     "He  goes,  alack!  alack! 

The  unattainable  to  seek." 
But  westward  still  he  rode — pardee! 
The  West !    Where  such  freaks  be ;  I 

vow, 

I'd  not  be  much  surprised  if  he 
Should  some  day  see 
A 
Purple 

Cow! 
HILDA  JOHNSON. 


IF  THEY  MEANT  ALT.  THEY 
SAID 

Charm  is  a  woman's  strongest  arm; 
My  charwoman  is  full  of  charm; 
I  chose  her,  not  for  strength  of  arm 
But  for  her  strange,  elusive  charm. 

And  how  tears  heighten  woman's  pow- 
ers! 

My  typist  weeps  for  hours  and  hours : 
I  took  her  for  her  weeping  powers — 
They  so  delight  my  business  Hours. 

A  woman  lives  by  intuition. 
Though  my  accountant  shuns  addition 
She  has  the  rarest  intuition. 
(And  I  myself  can  do  addition.) 


Timidity  in  girls  is  nice. 
My  cook  is  so  afraid  of  mice. 
Now  you'll  admit  it's  very  nice 
To  feel  your  cook's  afraid  of  mice. 
ALICE  DUEB  MILLER. 

Woman's  place  is  on  the  nerves. 


A  TALE  OF  FOREIGN  LANDS 

The  Camel  is  a  noble  brute, 
Across  the  sands  he  loves  to  scoot; 
He  has  to  live  in  foreign  lands, 
For  here  we  don't  have  many  sands. 

To  foreign  lands  the  Tourist  goes; 
Though  why  he  does  it  no  one  knows. 
For  nothing  he  may  see  or  learn 
Will  interest  us  on  his  return. 

The  Native  is  a  curious  chap; 
He  lives  in  corners  of  the  map. 
The  countries  that  are  coloured  pink 
Are  where  the  Native  lives — I  think. 

Now  in  this  picture  you  may  see 
The  Camel,  Tourist,  Native — three; 
Why  they  run  round  the  pyramid 
I  do  not  know;  and  never  did. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  125 


THE  ARTIST 
With  Pictures  by  the  Author 

The  world  is  full  of  stupid  folks,  who  seem  to  think  it  true 
That  just  because  a  man  makes  jokes,  that's  all  that  he  can  do! 
The  time  has  come  for  me  to  tell  that,  ever  since  my  birth, 
I've  drawn  an  animal  as  well  as  any  man  on  earth! 

The  Horse  has  been  my  closest  friend.    I  feel  no  small  remorse 
To  think  so  little  time  I  spend  within  his  stall,  perforce. 
His  every  point  I  comprehend :  he  draws  me  round,  of  course : — 
Yet  there  are  people  who  contend  I  cannot  draw  a  horse! 


The  trusty  Dog  is  wont  to  think  my  friendship  firm  and  warm. 
He  comes  to  me  for  food  and  drink  and  shelter  from  the  storm. 
You'll  never  see  him  cringe  or  shrink,  but  on  my  lap  he'll  swarm : — 
Yet  there  are  those  who  slyly  wink  when  I  depict  his  form! 


The  vigilant,  voracious  Goat  regards  my  word  as  law, 
A  fact  which  surely  must  denote  he  never  found  a  flaw 
In  anything  I  drew  or  wrote,  but  all  with  pleasure  saw: — 
Yet  I  have  heard  some  critics  vote  that  Goats  I  cannot  draw  { 


126 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


The  Walrus  in  his  chilly  clime,  upon  the  arctic  floe, 
Was  my  companion  many  a  time,  and  who  so  well  could  show 
How  he  pursues,  with  mien  sublime,  the  codfish  o'er  the  snow? 
Yet  people  say,  "Perhaps  in  rhyme — but  drawing  him?    Oh,  no!" 


The  Camel,  indolent  and  slim,  I  beckon  with  my  hand. 
To  meet  and  greet  me  he  will  skim,  rejoicing,  o'er  the  sand. 
He  stretches  every  agile  limb  to  answer  my  command : — 
And  yet  they  cry  that  sketching  him  I  do  not  understand! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


127 


The  Kangaroo,  the  Kangaroo !    He's  almost  like  my  twin, 
So  oft  together  at  the  Zoo  in  converse  have  we  been. 
I  love  him  well,  he  loves  me  true,  I'm  sure  we  two  are  kin : — 
Yet  some  ejaculate,  "Pooh,  pooh !    He  makes  him  far  too  thin !" 


The  Polar  Bear,  of  manners  cold,  has  told  me  in  despair 
That  really  he  could  not  have  told  how,  why,  or  when,  or  where 
He  could  have  found  a  friend  so  bold,  for  whom  he'd  learn  to  care ; 
Yet  there  are  certain  men  who  hold  I  cannot  draw  a  Bear ! 


The  Tiger  used  to  leave  his  feast  whenever  I  drew  near — 
(Not  incommoded  in  the  least,  but  with  a  smile  sincere). 
When  I  was  sailing  from  the  East  he  sent  a  case  of  beer: — 
Yet  in  my  pictures  of  the  beast  they  say  there's  something  queer  1 


128 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


The  timid,  tall  Camelopard  is  like  my  better  half. 

I  cherish  him  in  high  regard,  and  have  a  hearty  laugh 

In  walking  round  his  little  yard,  and  listening  to  his  chaff: — 

Yet  some  desire  to  have  me  barred  from  sketching  the  Giraffe! 


Well,  here  is  my  reply  to  those  who  at  my  drawings  rage : — 
I  beg  that  you  will  note  the  various  creatures  on  this  page! 
Of  course,  I've  only  made  a  few,  and  dashed  them  off,  at  that, 
But  still,  they  show  what  I  can  do,  and  knock  your  theories  flat ! 

GUY  WETMORE  CABBTL. 


A  FABLE 

Virtue  Has  Its  Own  Reward 

A  poor  young  man  fell  in  love  with 
the  daughter  of  a  rich  lady,  who  kept 
a  candy  shop.  The  poor  young 
man  could  not  marry  the  rich  candy 
lady's  daughter  because  he  had 
not  enough  money  to  buy  any  furni- 
ture. 

A  wicked  man  offered  to  give,  the 
young  man  twenty-five  dollars  if  he 
would  become  a  drunkard.  The  young 
man  wanted  the  money  very  much,  so 


he  could  marry  the  rich  candy  lady's 
daughter,  but  when  he  got  to  the  saloon 
he  turned  to  the  wicked  man  and  said : 
"I  will  not  become  a  drunkard,  even 
for  great  riches.  Get  thee  behind  me, 
Satan." 

On  his  way  home  he  found  a  pocket- 
book  containing  a  million  dollars  in 
gold;  then  the  young  lady  consented  to 
marry  him.  They  had  a  beautiful 
wedding  and  the  next  day  they  had 
twins.  Thus,  you  see  that  "virtue  has 
its  own  reward." 

A  perfectly  good  fable,  by  a  good 
child. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


129 


RHYMES   OF   THE   BOOGIN   CLUB 

How  very  sad  it  is  to  think 
Our  poor  benighted  brother 

Should  have  his  head  upon  one  end 
His  feet  upon  the  other ! 


130  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  COMICAL  GIEL 

There  was  a  child,  as  I  have  been  told, 

Who  when  she  was  young  didn't  look  very  old. 

Another  thing,  too,  some  people  have  said, 

At  the  top  of  her  body  there  grew  out  a  head; 

And  what  perhaps  might  make  some  people  stare 

Her  little  bald  pate  was  all  covered  with  hair. 

Another  strange  thing  which  made  gossipers  talk, 

Was  that  she  often  attempted  to  walk. 

And  then,  do  you  know,  she  occasioned  much  fun 

By  moving  so  fast  as  sometimes  to  run. 

Nay,  indeed,  I  have  heard  that  some  people  say 

She  often  would  smile  and  often  would  play. 

And  what  is  a  fact,  though  it  seems  very  odd, 

She  had  monstrous  dislike  to  the  feel  of  a  rod. 

This  strange  little  child  sometimes  hungry  would  be 

And  then  she  delighted  her  victuals  to  see. 

Even  drink  she  would  swallow,  and  though  strange  it  appears 

Whenever  she  listened  it  was  with  her  ears. 

With  her  eyes  she  could  see,  and  strange  to  relate 

Her  peepers  were  placed  in  front  of  her  pate. 

There,  too,  was  her  mouth  and  also  her  nose, 

And  on  her  two  feet  were  placed  her  ten  toes. 

Her  teeth,  I've  been  told,  were  fixed  in  her  gums, 

And  beside  having  fingers  she  also  had  thumbs. 

A  droll  child  she  therefore  most  surely  must  be, 

For  not  being  blind  she  was  able  to  see. 

One  circumstance  more  had  slipped  from  my  mind 

Which  is  when  not  cross  she  always  was  kind. 

And,  strangest  of  any  that  yet  I  have  said, 

She  every  night  went  to  sleep  on  her  bed. 

And,  what  may  occasion  you  no  small  surprise, 

When  napping,  she  always  shut  close  up  her  eyes. 

M.  PKLHAM. 


Another  one! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


131 


HINTS  ON  TABLE  ETIQUETTE 


TO  A  BAKED  FISH 

Preserve  a  respectful  demeanour 
When    you    are    brought    into    the 

room; 
Don't  stare  at  the  guests  while  they're 

eating, 
No  matter  how  much  they  consume. 


132 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


TO  LETTUCE 

The  humblest  are  counted  the  wisest, 
The  modest  are  lauded  the  most; 

Don't  have  a  big  head  because  some- 
times 
You  sit  on  the  right  of  the  host. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


133 


TO  LAMB   CHOPS 

If  there  are  only  ladies  at  luncheon, — 
It  being  a  feminine  feast, — 

You  then  may  appear  in  curl-papers; 
No  one  will  object  in  the  least. 


134 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


TO   THE   MORNING  PAPER 

By   the   family   you're   welcomed    at 

breakfast, 

Your  presence,  indeed,  they  expect; 
But  pray  do  not  come  in  your  wrap- 
per— 
It  isn't  considered  correct. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


135 


TO  A  SALAD 


The  lady  whose  costume  is  smartest 
May    not    be    the    most    honoured 
guest; 

Don't  think  you  are  better  than  others 
Because  you  are  very  well  dressed. 


136 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


TO    CUCUMBERS 

Who  rashly  gives  way  to  his  temper 
Is  often  considered  a  fool; 

Although  they  may  call  you  a  green 

one, 
Just  try  to  keep  perfectly  cool. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


137 


TO  THE  BUTTER 

To  exercise  just  before  meal-time 
The  doctors  declare  is  quite  wrong; 

So  don't  run  when  dinner  is  waiting, 
Especially  if  you're  not  strong. 

CAROLYN  WELLS. 


138 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


COUNSEL  TO  THOSE  THAT  EAT 

With  chocolate-cream  that  you  buy  in 

the  cake 
Large  mouthfuls  and  hurry  are  quite  a 

mistake. 

Wise  persons  prolong  it  as  long  as  they 

can 
By  putting  in  practice  this  excellent 

plan. 

The  cream  from  the  chocolate  lining 

they  dig 
With  a  Runaway  match  or  a  clean  little 

twig. 

Many   hundreds, — nay,   thousands — of 

scoopings  they  make 
Before  they've  exhausted  a  twopenny 

cake. 

With   ices    'tis   equally   wrongful   to 

haste; 
You  ought  to  go  slowly  and  dwell  on 

each  taste. 

Large  mouthfuls  are  painful,  as  well 

as  unwise, 
For  they  lead  to  an  ache  at  the  back 

of  the  eyes. 

And  the  delicate  sip  is  e'en  better,  one 

finds, 
If  the  ice  is  a  mixture  of  different 

kinds. 

A   refinement   of  delicate   restraint 
rarely  seen  nowadays. 


THE  EDITOR'S  WOOING 

We  love  thee,  Ann  Maria  Smith, 

And  in  thy  condescension 
We  see  a  future  full  of  joys 

Too  numerous  to  mention. 

There's  Cupid's  arrow  in  thy  glance, 
That  by  thy  love's  coercion 

Has    reached    our    melting    heart    of 

hearts, 
And  asked  for  one  insertion. 

With  joy  we  feel  the  blissful  smart ; 

And  ere  our  passion  ranges, 
We  freely  place  thy  love  upon 

The  list  of  our  exchanges. 

There's  music  in  thy  lowest  tone, 
And  silver  in  thy  laughter: 

And  truth — but  we  will  give  the  full 
Particulars  hereafter. 

Oh,  we  could  tell  thee  of  our  plans 

All  obstacles  to  scatter; 
But  we  are  full  just  now,  and  have 

A  press  of  other  matter. 

Then  let  us  marry,  Queen  of  Smiths, 

Without  more  hesitation : 
The  very  thought  doth  give  our  blood 
A  larger  circulation. 

ROBERT  H.  NEWELL. 
("Orpheus  C.  Kerr.") 


Pioneer  work,  too. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


139 


WORDSWORTHIAN  REMINIS- 
CENCE 

I  walked  and  came  upon  a  picket  fence, 
And  every  picket  went  straight  up  and 

down, 

And  all  at  even  intervals  were  placed, 
All  painted  green,  all  pointed  at  the 

top, 

And  every  one  inextricably  nailed 
Unto   two   several   cross-beams,   which 

did  go, 

Not   as  the  pickets,  but  quite  other- 
wise, 

And  they  two  crossed,  but  back  of  all 
were  posts. 

0  beauteous  picket  fence,  can  I  not 
draw 

Instruction  from  thee?    Yea,  for  thou 

dost  teach, 

That  even  as  the  pickets  are  made  fast 
To  that  which  seems  all  at  cross  pur- 
poses, 

So  are  our  human  lives,  to  the  Divine, 
But,  oh!  not  purposeless,  for  even  as 

they 
Do  keep  stray  cows  from  trespass,  we, 

no  doubt, 
Together  guard  some  plan  of  Deity. 

Thus  did  I  moralise.     And  from  the 

beams 

And  pickets  drew  a  lesson  to  myself, — 
But  where  the  posts  came  in,  I  could 

not  tell. 

I  <wish  the  man  who  sent  this  in  had 
signed  it. 

THE  ULTIMATE  JOY 

1  have  felt  the  thrill  of  passion  in  the 
poet's  mystic  book 

And  I've  lingered  in  delight  to  catch 
the  rhythm  of  the  brook  j 


I've  felt  the  ecstasy  that  comes  when 
prima  donnas  reach 

For  upper  C  and  hold  it  in  a  long, 
melodious  screech. 

And  yet  the  charm  of  all  these  blissful 
memories  fades  away 

As  I  think  upon  the  fortune  that  befell 
the  other  day, 

As  I  bring  to  recollection,  with  a  joy- 
ous, wistful  sigh, 

That  I  woke  and  felt  the  need  of  extra 
covers  in  July. 

Oh,   eerie  hour  of  drowsiness — 'twas 

like  a  fairy  spell, 
That  respite  from  the  terrors  we  have 

known,  alas,  so  well, 
The  malevolent  mosquito,  with  a  limp 

and  idle  bill, 
Hung  supinely  from  the  ceiling,  all 

exhausted  by  his  chill. 
And  the  early  morning  sunbeam  lost 

his  customary  leer 
And  brought  a  gracious  greeting  and  a 

prophecy  of  cheer; 
A  generous  affability  reached  up  from 

earth  to  sky, 
When  I  woke  and  felt  the  need  of 

extra  covers  in  July. 

In  every  life  there  comes  a  time  of 

happiness  supreme, 
When  joy  becomes  reality  and  not  a 

glittering  dream. 
'Tis  less  appreciated,  but  it's  worth  a 

great  deal  more 
Than  tides  which  taken  at  their  flood 

lead  on  to  fortune's  shore. 
How  vain  is  Art's  illusion,  and  how 

potent  Nature's  sway 
When  once  in  kindly  mood  she  deigns 

to  waft  our  woes  away  I 
And  the  memory  will  cheer  me,  though 

all  other  pleasures  fly, 
Of  how  I  woke  and  needed  extra  covers 

in  July. 

Righto! 


140 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


ETIQUETTE  FOR  ANY  AFRICAN 
JUNGLE  HUNTER 

Laugh  with  the  gay  hyena, 
Weep  with  the  crocodile; 
Attune  your  mood 
To  the  jungle  brood; 
When  others  are  smiling,  smile. 

Add  with  the  busy  adder, 
Chatter  with  chimpanzees; 
If  porcupines 
Have  fretful  spines 
Be  tactful,  and  strive  to  please. 

Clean  the  spots  from  the  leopard; 
Return  the  bear's  fond  hug; 
When  the  tigers  bound, 
Lie  on  the  ground, 
And  act  like  a  tiger  rug. 

With  zebras  wear  striped  clothing; 
With  camels  a  camel's-hair  shawl ; 

Adapt  your  tone 
To  the  beasties'  own, 
And  you'll  have  no  trouble  at  all! 

Going  Ella  W.  W.  one  better. 


NIRVANA 
I  am 

A  Clam! 
Come  learn  of  me 
Unclouded  peace  and  calm  content, 

Serene,  supreme  tranquillity, 
Where  thoughtless  dreams  and  dream- 
less thoughts  are  blent. 

When  the  salt  tide  is  rising  to  the  flood, 
In  billows  blue  my  placid  pulp  I 

lave; 
And  when  it  ebbs  I  slumber  in  the 

mud, 

Content  alike  with  ooze  or  crystal 
wave. 


I   do   not   shudder  when   in   chowder 

stewed, 

Nor  when  the   Coney  Islander  en- 
gulfs me  raw. 

When  in  the  church  soup's  dreary  soli- 
tude 

Alone    I    wander,    do    I    shudder? 
Naw! 

If  jarring  tempests  beat  upon  my  bed, 

Or  summer  peace  there  be, 
I  do  not  care:  as  I  have  said, 
All's   one  to  me; 
A  Clam 
I  am. 

"Respite,  respite  and  nepenthe." 

SCHOOL 

If  there  is  a  vile,  pernicious, 

Wicked  and  degraded  rule, 
Tending  to  debase  the  vicious, 

And  corrupt  the  harmless  fool; 
If  there  is  a  hateful  habit 

Making  man  a  senseless  tool, 
With  the  feelings  of  a  rabbit 

And  the  wisdom  of  a  mule; 
It's  the  rule  which  inculcates, 
It's  the  habit  which  dictates 
The  wrong  and  sinful  practice  of  go- 
ing into  school. 

If  there's  anything  improving 

To  an  erring  sinner's  state, 
Which  is  useful  in  removing 

All  the  ills  of  human  fate; 
If  there's  any  glorious  custom 

Which  our  faults  can  dissipate, 
And  can  casually  thrust  'em 

Out  of  sight  and  make  us  great; 
It's  the  plan  by  which  we  shirk 
Half  our  matu-ti-nal  work, 
The  glorious  institution  of  always  be- 
ing late. 

J.  K.  STEPHEN. 

Proving  the  doctrine  of  original  sin. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


141 


THE  FOOLKILLER'S  SONG 

The  Foolkiller  sat  by  a  hickory  tree, 
in  the  luminous  light  of  the  moon; 
his  eyes  were  lurid  with  a  baleful  glee, 
and  he  chanted  a  simple  tune.  And 
the  Foolkiller's  tresses  were  black  as 
night,  and  the  Foolkiller's  voice  was 
strong,  and  the  Foolkiller  sung  with  a 
weird  delight,  this  simple  yet  rap- 
turous song:  "Oh,  whither  and  where 
is  the  youth  who  goes  in  the  light  of 
the  waning  day,  to  the  river  side, 
where  the  bock  beer  flows  and  squan- 
ders away  his  pay  ?  I  sigh  for  a  crack 
at  his  swollen  head,  and  a  punch  at  his 
bloodshot  eye.  Oh,  whither  and  where 
is  the  youth,  I  said,  that  I'll  find  him 
and  let  him  die?  Oh,  whither  away  is 
the  man  who  tries  to  get  off  a  public 
speech;  who'll  range  from  murmurs 
and  broken  sighs  to  a  desperate  wolfish 
screech;  who  gropes  around  for  a 
missing  word,  and  stammers  and  hums 
and  haws?  Oh,  soon  will  the  crack  of 
my  club  be  heard,  as  it  flattens  upon 
his  jaws.  Oh,  show  me  the  path  in 
some  lonely  dell  where  I'll  find  an 
idiot  grey,  who  twangs  a  note  on  the 
chestnut  bell,  whenever  a  word  you 
say;  for  a  chestnut  bell  is  a  fool's  de- 
vice, which  none  but  a  fool  will  use, 
and  I'll  knock  such  lunatics  in  a  trice, 
clear  out  of  their  high-heeled  shoes. 
Oh,  whither  away  is  the  man  who 
smiles,  and  grins  in  the  house  of 
prayer?  For  he  thinks  he's  smart,  but 
my  snares  and  wiles  will  coax  him  into 
my  lair;  and  there  in  the  dark  and 
dismal  damp,  I'll  flatten  him  on  the 
wall,  and  I'll  pave  the  floor  of  my 
lonely  camp  with  his  indestructible 
gall!"  Then  the  Foolkiller  leaped  to 
his  feet  quite  blithe,  in  the  light  of  the 
waning  moon,  and  he  drew  a  finger 
along  his  scythe,  as  he  chanted  that 


simple  tune,  and  he  started  off  in  a 
Spanish  trot,  according  to  life-long 
rules,  and  he  sung  as  he  went.  "I'll 
make  it  hot,  in  this  dismal  region  of 
fools!" 

The  old-time  type. 


AS  EXPANDED 

A  diminutive  specimen  of  juvenile 
femininity  yclept  Miss  Muffet  had 
placed  herself  in  a  sitting  posture  upon 
an  article  of  household  furniture  or- 
dinarily termed  an  ottoman  or  hassock. 

Ministering  to  the  gratification  of 
her  gustatory  organs  by  ingurgitating 
the  coagulated  portion  of  bovine  lacteal 
fluid  mingled  with  the  watery  serum  of 
the  same  which  remains  after  the  coag- 
ulated portion  has  been  segregated  and 
withdrawn. 

Happening  to  glance  downwards, 
she  observed  that  a  specimen  of  the 
genus  Araneida,  class  Arachnida,  re- 
markable for  its  ability  to  produce  fila- 
ments of  extraordinary  tenuity  from 
its  own  interior,  had  taken  a  position 
upon  the  ottoman  or  hassock  in  imme- 
diate proximity  to  her. 

Which  totally  unexpected  incident 
aroused  her  apprehension  to  such  an 
extent  that  she  immediately,  not  to 
say  precipitately,  arose  from  her  sit- 
ting posture  and  departed  from  the 
locality,  leaving  the  intruder  in  undis- 
puted possession  of  the  apartment. 

CHICAGO  TRIBUNE. 


Well,  you  don't  "have  to  eat  a  whole 
egg,  to  know  you  don't  like  it. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THEODORE  EOOSEVELT 

Alert  as  bird  or  early  worm, 

Yet  gifted  with  those  courtly  ways 
Which  connoisseurs  correctly  term 

The  tout-c'qu'-il-y-a  de  Louis  seize; 
He  reigns,  by  popular  assent, 
The  people's  peerless  President! 

Behold    him!      Squarely    built    and 

small ; 
With    hands    that    would    resemble 

Liszt's, 
Did  they  not  forcibly  recall 

The  contour  of  Fitzsimmons'  fists; 
Beneath  whose  velvet  gloves  you  feel 
The  politician's  grip  of  steel. 

Accomplished  as  a  King  should  be, 

And  autocratic  as  a  Czar, 
To  him  all  classes  bow  the  knee, 

In  spotless  Washington  afar; 
And  while  his  jealous  rivals  scoff, 
He  wears  the  smile-that-won't-come-off. 

In  him  combined  we  critics  find 
The  diplomatic  skill  of  Choate, 

Elijah  Dowie's  breadth  of  mind, 
And  Chauncey's  fund  of  anecdote; 

He  joins  the  morals  of  Susannah 

To  Dr.  Munyon's  bedside  manner. 

The  nigged  virtues  of  his  race 
He  softens  with  a  Dewey's  tact, 

Combining  Shatter's  easy  grace 
With  all  Bourke  Coekran's  love  of 
fact; 

To  Dooley's  pow'rs  of  observation 

He  adds  the  charms  of  Carrie  Nation. 

In  him  we  see  a  devotee 

Of  what  is  called  the  "simpler  life" 
(To  tell  the  naked  Truth,  and  be 

Contented  with  a  single  wife). 
Luxurious  living  he  abhors, 
And  takes  his  pleasures  out  of  doors. 


And,  since  his  sole  delight  and  pride 

Are  exercise  and  open  air, 
His  spirit  chafes  at  being  tied 

All  day  to  an  official  chair; 
The  bell-boys  (in  the  room  beneath) 
Can  hear  him  gnash  his  serried  teeth. 

In  summertime  he  can't  resist 
A  country  gallop  on  his  cob, 

So,  like  a  thorough  altruist, 
He  lets  another  do  his  job; 

In  winter  he  will  work  all  day, 

But  when   the   sun   shines  he  makes 
Hay. 

And  thus,  in  spite  of  office  ties, 

He  manages  to  take  a  lot 
Of  healthy  outdoor  exercise, 

Where  other  Presidents  have  not; 
As  I  can  prove  by  drawing  your 
Attention  to  his  carte  du  jour. 

At  6  a.m.  he  shoots  a  bear, 
At  8  he  schools  a  restive  horse, 

From  10  to  4  he  takes  the  air, — 
(He  doesn't  take  it  all,  of  course) ; 

And  then  at  5  o'clock,  maybe, 

Some  coloured  man  drops  in  to  tea. 

At  intervals  throughout  the  day 
He  sprints  around  the  house,  or  if 

His  residence  is  Oyster  Bay, 
He  races  up  and  down  the  cliff; 

While  seagulls  scream  about  his  legs, 

Or  hasten  home  to  hide  their  eggs. 

A  man  of  deeds,  not  words,  is  he, 
Who  never  stooped  to  roll  a  log; 

Agile  as  fond  gazelle  or  flea, 
Sagacious  as  an  indoor  dog; 

In  him  we  find  a  spacious  mind, 

"Uncribb'd,  uncabin'd,  unconfin'd." 

In  martial  exploits  he  delights, 
And  has  no  fear  of  War's  alarms; 

The  hero  of  a  hundred  fights, 

Since  first  he  was  a  child  (in  arms) ; 

Like  battle-horse,  when  bugles  bray, 

He  champs  his  bit  and  tries  to  neigh. 


THE   LITTLE  RABBIT'S   MISTAKE 

"Hello,  some  rabbit's  lost  its  tail!     Too  bad,   I   do  declare!" 
(He  saw  a  fluffy  thisjle-down  afloat  up  in  the  air.) 

— Peter  Newell. 


Although  a,  different  shape  he  shows, 
Although  his  fur  is  richer, — 
His  ears  are  quite  as  long  as  those 
Of  any  little  pitcher. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


143 


And  if  the  Army  of  the  State 
Is  always  in  such  perfect  trim, 

Well-organised  and  up  to  date, 
This  grand  result  is  due  to  him; 

Tor  while  his  country  reaped  the  fruit, 

'Twas  he  alone  could  reach  the  Eoot. 

And    spite   of   jeers   that   foes   have 
hurled, 

No  problems  can  his  soul  perplex; 
He  lectures  women  of  the  world 

Upon  the  duties  of  their  sex, 
And  with  unfailing  courage  thrusts 
His  spoke  within  the  wheels  of  trusts. 

No  private  ends  has  he  to  serve, 
No  dirty  linen  needs  to  wash; 

A  man  of  quite  colossal  nerve, 

Who   lives   sans   peur   et   sans   re- 
proche; 

In  modo  suaviter  maybe, 

But  then  how  fortiter  in  re! 

A  lion  is  his  crest,  you  know, 
Columbia  stooping  to  caress  it, 

With  vi  et  armis  writ  below, 
Nemo  impune  me  lacessit; 

His  motto,  as  you've  read  already, 

Semper  paratus — always  Teddy! 

CAPTAIN  HARRY  GRAHAM. 

Many  pertinent  comments  suggest 
themselves.  However,  this  book  is  not 
for  a  day,  but  for  all  time. 

AMAZING  FACTS  ABOUT  FOOD 

The  Food  Scientist  tells  us:  "A  defi- 
ciency of  iron,  phosphorus,  potassium, 
calcium  and  the  other  mineral  salts,  col- 
loids and  vitamines  of  vegetable  origin 
leads  to  numerous  forms  of  physical  dis- 
order." 

I  yearn  to  bite  on  a  Colloid 
With  phosphorus,  iron  and  Beans; 

I    want    to    be    filled    with    Calcium, 

grilled, 
And  Vegetable  Vitamines! 


I  yearn  to  bite  on  a  Colloid 

(Though    I    don't    know    what    it 

means) 
To    line   my   inside   with   Potassium, 

fried, 
And  Veg'table  Vitamines. 

I  would  sate  my  soul  with  spinach 

And  dandelion  greens. 
No  eggs,  nor  ham,  nor  the  hard  boiled 
clam, 

But  Veg'table  Vitamines. 

Hi,  Waiter!    Coddle  the  Colloids 

With  phosphorus,  iron  and  Beans; 
Though  Mineral  Salts  may  have  some 

faults, 
Bring  on  the  Vitamines. 

H.  W. 

No  wonder  Nebuchadnezzar  was  such 
a  hale  old  party. 


HOME 

One  rubber  plant  can  never  make  a 

home, 
Not  even  when  combined  with  brush 

and  comb, 

And  spoon  and  fork  and  knife, 
And  graphophone  and  wife, — 
No!    Something  more  is  needed  for  a 
home. 

One  rubber  plant  can  never  make  a 

home; 
One  day  did  not  suffice  for  building 

Rome. 

One  gas-log  and  a  cat 
Can't  civilise  a  flat; 
No !    Something  more  is  needed  for  a 
home. 

NIXON  WATERMAN. 

What  do  you  suppose  he  meant  f 


144 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


IVY  DE  MILLEFLEURS 
A  Rigmarole 

Once  on  a  time, 
When  pigs  were  swime, 
(I  must  have  the  m  or  else  it 

won't  rhyme,) 
And    hogs   they   went   without 

noses, 

In  the  violet  air 
Of  some  sunny  parterre 
(Immaterial  where,  but  on  this  side  of 

there) 

Bloomed  Ivy  the  fair 
De  Millefleurs  Saint  Omer, 
In  an  island  of  lilies  and  roses. — 

'Twould  have  made  you  stare 
To  examine  her  hair — 
It  was  all  grown  of  red  and  white 
posies. 


Young  hyacinthe  locks ! 
For  each  lover  she  docks 
A  tress  like  a  garland  of  flowers, 
All  wreathed  in  a  braid 
By  some  witchery's  aid 
That's  warranted  never  to  fade 

(So  the  maid 
Says)     whilst    sun    follows 

shade, 
And  the  sprayed 


Rain  comes  down   on  her  head  thro' 

the  bowers — 
I'm  afraid 

She  must  want   a   great   number   of 
showers ! 


For  her  lovers,  I  mean, — 
For  herself,  sweet  sixteen, 
Countess  June,  Duchess  Summer,  per- 
ennial May-queen, 
The  skies  all  seemed  taken  with 

dropsies ; 

And  morn,  noon,  and  e'en 
They  kept  her  so  green 
No  velveteen  ever  was  seen,  or 

moreen, 

Or  betwixt  and  between, 
In  colour  or  sheen, 
Lake  the  satin-soft  leaves  in  her  short 

crinoline 

As  she  glittered  about  thro'  the 
copses : 

I  ween 

You'd  have  been 
In  despair  if  you'd  seen 
Those  small  feet  at  the  mercy  of 

wopses ! 
(Not  to  lean 

On  a  hand  the  reverse  of  Miss 
Topsy's.) 


But  tho'  exquisite  paws 
Palpitations  may  cause 
When   they're  white   as  the  lilies   of 

Youzzum, 
And  fairy-like  feet 
Are  remarkably  neat, 
They  won't  act,  comme  vous  dites, 
For  a  pulse  that  don't  beat — 

I  repeat, 

Nymphs  tho'  sweet 
Can't  be  reckoned  complete 
When  they've  not  got  a  heart  in  their 
bosom. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


145 


But  never  mind,  Ivy! 
The  peerless  in  bloom, 
Sleeping     bewitchingness,      dreaming 

perfume, 

In  your  own  little  isle  of  delight,  love, 

If  your  heart  is  but  small 

You've  got  beauty  for  all, 

And  who  says  you're  not  in  the  right, 

love? 

Tears  never  made  a  heart  live,  love; 
Smiles   you   have   showers  to   give, 

love; 
And  the  wreaths  of  your  spells 

Are  all  Immortelles, 
For  they've  nothing  that  time  cares  to 

blight,  love. 
H.  CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL. 

Probably  written  in  a  Morris  chair. 
THE  LAND  OF  LOO-LA-LEE 
A  Nonsense  Song 

Come  with  me,  oh,  come  with  me, 
To  the  land  of  Loo-la-lee, 
Where  the  pickles  and  nickels 

Grow  upon  the  tubsy  tree; 
Where  the  cows  wear  ruffled  dresses 
Made  of  wax  and  water-cresses; 
Where  the  parrots  live  on  carrots 

And  the  owls  drink  taffy  tea. 

Come  with  me  across  the  sea 

To  the  land  of  Loo-la-lee, 

Where  the  golden-haired  canaries 
Row  their  boats  across  the  prairies; 

Where  the  whaley  dances  gayly 
As  upon  his  tail  he  spins, 
Holding  fans  in  all  his  fins. 

Oh,  such  merry  things  you'll  see 

In  the  land  of  Loo-la-lee! 

Come  with  me,  oh,  come  with  me! 

The  land  where  it  is  always  Satur- 
day afternoon. 


THE  RONDEAU 

Pray  tell  me  why  we  can't  agree 
To  bid  the  merry  Muse  run  free? 
Pray  tell  me  why  we  should  incline 
To  see  her  in  a  Rondeau  pine, 
Or  sigh  in  shackled  minstrelsy? 

Why  can't  she  sing  with  lark-like  glee, 
And  revel  in  bright  jeux  d'espritf 
Where  form  can't  fetter  or  confine — 
Pray  tell  me  why! 

Pray  tell  me  why  that  frisky  gee, 
Called  Pegasus  should  harnessed  bet 
Why  bit  and  bridle  should  combine 
To  all  his  liveliness  consign, — 
To  deck  the  Rondeau's  filigree — 
Pray  tell  me  why? 

Those  dressy  poets! 

THE  MICROBE 

The  Microbe  is  so  very  small 
You  cannot  make  him  out  at  all, 
But  many  sanguine  people  hope 
To  see  him  through  a  microscope. 
His  jointed  tongue  that  lies  beneath 
A  hundred  curious  rows  of  teeth; 
His  seven  tufted  tails  with  lots 
Of  lovely  pink  and  purple  spots 
On  each  of  which  a  pattern  stands, 
Composed  of  forty  separate  bands; 
His  eyebrows  of  a  tender  green ; 
All  these  have  never  yet  been 

seen — 
But  Scientists,  who  ought  to 

know, 
Assure  us  that  they  must  be 

so.  ... 
Oh!  let  us  never,  never 

doubt 

What   nobody  is  sure 
about ! 
HILAIBE  BELLOC. 

Mr.  Belloc  is  a  natural  born  Natural 
Historian. 


146  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


MISTER  WILLIAM 

Oh,  listen  to  the  tale  of  Mister  William,  if  you  please, 
Whom  naughty,  naughty  judges  sent  away  beyond  the  seas. 
He  forged  a  party's  will,  which  caused  anxiety  and  strife, 
Resulting  in  his  getting  penal  servitude  for  life. 

He  was  a  kindly,  goodly  man,  and  naturally  prone, 
Instead  of  taking  others'  gold,  to  give  away  his  own. 
But  he  had  heard  of  Vice,  and  longed  for  only  once  to  strike — 
To  plan  one  little  wickedness — to  see  what  it  was  like. 

He  argued  with  himself,  and  said,  "A  spotless  man  am  I; 
I  can't  be  more  respectable,  however  hard  I  try; 
For  six  and  thirty  years  I've  always  been  as  good  as  gold, 
And  now  for  half  an  hour  I'll  plan  infamy  untold! 

"A  baby  who  is  wicked  at  the  early  age  of  one, 
And  then  reforms — and  dies  at  thirty-six  a  spotless  son, 
Is  never,  never  saddled  with  his  babyhood's  defect, 
But  earns  from  worthy  men  consideration  and  respect. 

"So  one  who  never  revelled  in  discreditable  tricks 
Until  he  reached  the  comfortable  age  of  thirty-six, 
May  then  for  half  an  hour  perpetrate  a  deed  of  shame, 
Without  incurring  permanent  disgrace,  or  even  blame. 

"That  babies  don't  commit  such  crimes  as  forgery  is  true, 
But  little  sins  develop,  if  you  leave  'em  to  accrue; 
And  he  who  shuns  all  vices  as  successive  seasons  roll, 
Should  reap  at  length  the  benefit  of  so  much  self-control. 

"The  common  sin  of  babyhood — objecting  to  be  drest — 
If  you  leave  it  to  accumulate  at  compound  interest, 
For  anything  you  know,  may  represent,  if  you're  alive, 
A  burglary  or  murder  at  the  age  of  thirty-five. 

"Still  I  wouldn't  take  advantage  of  this  fact,  but  be  content 
With  some  pardonable  folly — it's  a  mere  experiment. 
The  greater  the  temptation  to  go  wrong,  the  less  the  sin; 
So  with  something  that's  particularly  tempting  I'll  begin. 

"I  would  not  steal  a  penny,  for  my  income's  very  fair — 
I  do  not  want  a  penny — I  have  pennies  and  to  spare — 
And  if  I  stole  a  penny  from  a  money-bag  or  till, 
The  sin  would  be  enormous — the  temptation  being  nil. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  147 


"But  if  I  broke  asunder  all  such  pettifogging  bounds, 

And  forged  a  party's  will  for  (say)  Five  Hundred  Thousand  Pounds, 

With  such  an  irresistible  temptation  to  a  haul, 

Of  course  the  sin  must  be  infinitesimally  small. 

"There's  Wilson  who  is  dying — he  has  wealth  from  stock  and  rent — 

If  I  divert  his  riches  from  their  natural  descent, 

I'm  placed  in  a  position  to  indulge  each  little  whim." 

So  he  diverted  them — and  they,  in  turn,  diverted  him. 

Unfortunately,  though,  by  some  unpardonable  flaw, 
Temptation  isn't  recognised  by.  Britain's  Common  Law; 
Men  found  him  out  by  some  peculiarity  of  touch, 
And  William  got  a  "lifer,"  which  annoyed  him  very  much. 

For,  ah!  he  never  reconciled  himself  to  life  in  gaol, 

He  fretted  and  he  pined,  and  grew  dispirited  and  pale; 

He  was  numbered  like  a  cabman,  too,  which  told  upon  him  so 

That  his  spirits,  once  so  buoyant,  grew  uncomfortably  low. 

And  sympathetic  gaolers  would  remark,  "It's  very  true, 
He  ain't  been  brought  up  common,  like  the  likes  of  me  and  you." 
So  they  took  him  into  hospital,  and  gave  him  mutton  chops, 
And  chocolate,  and  arrowroot,  and  buns,  and  malt,  and  hops. 

Kind  clergymen,  besides,  grew  interested  in  his  fate, 
Affected  by  the  details  of  his  pitiable  state. 
They  waited  on  the  Secretary,  somewhere  in  Whitehall, 
Who  said  he  would  receive  them  any  day  they  liked  to  call. 

"Consider,  sir,  the  hardship  of  this  interesting  case: 
A  prison  life  brings  with  it  something  very  like  disgrace; 
It's  telling  on  young  William,  who's  reduced  to  skin  and  bone — 
Remember  he's  a  gentleman,  with  money  of  his  own. 

"He  had  an  ample  income,  and  of  course  he  stands  in  need 
Of  sherry  with  his  dinner,  and  his  customary  weed; 
No  delicacies  now  can  pass  his  gentlemanly  lips — 
He  misses  his  sea-bathing1,  and  his  continental  trips. 

"He  says  the  other  prisoners  are  commonplace  and  rude; 
He  says  he  cannot  relish  uncongenial  prison  food. 
When  quite  a  boy  they  taught  him  to  distinguish  Good  from  Bad, 
And  other  educational  advantages  he's  had. 


148 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


"A  burglar,  or  garroter,  or,  indeed,  a  common  thief 
Is  very  glad  to  batten  on  potatoes  and  on  beef, 
Or  anything,  in  short,  that  prison  kitchens  can  afford,- 
A  cut  above  the  diet  in  a  common  workhouse  ward. 


"But  beef  and  mutton-broth  don't  seem  to  suit  our  William's  whim, 

A  boon  to  other  prisoners — a  punishment  to  him. 

It  never  was  intended  that  the  discipline  of  gaol 

Should  dash  a  convict's  spirits,  sir,  or  make  him  thin  or  pale." 

"Good  Gracious  Me!"  that  sympathetic  Secretary  cried, 
"Suppose  in  prison  fetters  Mister  William  should  have  died! 
Dear  me,  of  course!    Imprisonment  for  Life  his  sentence  saith: 
I'm  very  glad  you  mentioned  it — it  might  have  been  for  Death ! 


"Release  him  with  a  ticket — he'll  be  better  then,  no  doubt, 
And  tell  him  I  apologise."     So  Mister  William's  out. 
I  hope  he  will  be  careful  in  his  manuscripts,  I'm  sure, 
And  not  begin  experimentalising  any  more. 

WILLIAM  S.  GILBERT. 


Mr.  William  sees  it  through. 
THE  BOBOLINK 

The  bobolink  bobbled  his  brug  brimmo- 

daire 

And  f rabbled  his  f  ungo-ozwando ; 
He    spazzled    and    chuggaed    his    lyg 

miffligaire 

While    pandigging    out    his    frass- 
mando. 

His   mushig,    however,   galog   on    the 

siller 

And  quinsagged  his  plag  into  mink 
But    the    ginzook    cowldiggered    and 

piggled  the  briller 
'Twas  the  flob  sol  of  our  bobolink. 
THE  PUNCH  BOWL. 

Though  they  may  acquire  wise  knowl- 
edge, 
They  can't  write  humour  at  a  college. 


HARD  PIPING 

Too  hard  it  is  to  pipe 
To  an  untuneful  herd! 
And  berries,  while  unripe, 
Repel  the  prudent  bird! 
The  wildly  warbling  snipe 
You  may,  perhaps,  have  heard— 
(Too  hard  it  is  to  pipe 
To  an  untuneful  herd ! ) 
It  rarely  fed  on  tripe 
But  mushrooms  much  preferred 
Lest  folks  its  tail  should  gripe 
And  salt  (which  were  absurd!) 
Too  hard  it  is  to  pipe 
To  an  untuneful  herd! 


But  why  pipe  at  all? 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


149 


THE  TALE  OF  A  DOG 

When  my  little  dog  is  happy, 

And  canine  life  is  bliss, 
He  always  keeps  his  joyful  tail 


A-standing  up  1 

When  my  little  dog  is  doleful, 
And  bones  are  scarce,  you  know, 

He  always  keeps  his  mournful  tail 
A-hanging  'way  d 


1 
o 
w 


JAMES  H.  LAMBERT,  JR. 
Nice  doggie. 


FROM  AN  ALPHABET  OF 
SAINTS 

Z,  for  Saint  Zita,  the  good  kitchen 

maid; 
She  prayed,  and  she  prayed,  and  she 

prayed,  and  she  prayed! 
One  morning  she  got  so  absorbed  in 

her  prayers, 
She   simply   neglected   her  household 

affairs. 
Too  late  she  remembered  'twas  bread 

making  day, 


And  she  trembled  to  think  what  her 

mistress  would  say; 
She  flew  to  the  oven,  looked  in  it,  and 

cried: 
"Glory  be   to   the   Lord,   the   bread's 

ready  inside!" 
The  angels  had  kneaded  it,  raised  it 

with  yeast, 
Made  the  fire,  put  the  pans  in  the  oven 

— at  least 
I  can  only  suppose  that  was  how  it 

was  done, 
For  the   bread   was   all   baked   by  a 

quarter  to  one. 
To  pray  like  Saint  Zita,  but  not  to 

be  late, 

Is  the  way  to  be  good,  and  (if  pos- 
sible) great. 

FATHER  ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON. 

Wish  I  could  print  the  whole  twenty- 
six,  but  this  is  the  best  one. 


TO  MINERVA 
From  the  Greek 

My  temples  throb,  my  pulses  boil, 
I'm  sick  of  Song  and  Ode  and  Bal- 
lad— 

So  Thyrsis,  take  the  midnight  oil, 
And  pour  it  on  a  lobster  salad. 


My  brain  is  dull,  my  sight  is  foul, 
I  cannot  write  a  verse,  or  read — 

Then  Pallas,  take  away  thine  Owl, 
And  let  us  have  a  Lark  instead. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


"If  it's  Hood 
It's  good." 


150 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  WAR:  A— Z 

An  Austrian  Archduke,  assaulted  and 
assailed, 

Broke  Belgium's  barriers,  by  Britain 
bewailed, 

Causing  consternation,  confused  cha- 
otic crises; 

Diffusing  destructive,  death  dealing  de- 
vices. 

England  engaged  earnestly,  eager 
every  ear, 

France  fought  furiously,  forsaking 
foolish  fear, 

Great  German  garrisons  grappled 
Gallic  guard, 

Hohenzollern  Hussars  hammered, 
heavy,  hard. 

Infantry,  Imperial,  Indian,  Irish,  in- 
termingling, 

Jackets  jaunty,  joking,  jesting,  jos- 
tling, jingling. 

Kinetic,  Kruppised  Kaiser,  kingdom's 
killing  knight, 

Laid  Louvain  lamenting,  London  lack- 
ing light, 

Mobilising  millions,  marvellous  mobil- 
ity* 

Numberless  nonentities,  numerous  no- 
bility. 

Oligarchies  olden  opposed  olive  offer- 
ing, 

Prussia  pressed  Paris,  Polish  protec- 
tion proffering, 

Quaint  Quebec  quickly  quartered  quo- 
tidian quota, 

Renascent  Russia,  resonant,  reported 
regal  rota. 

Scotch  soldiers,  sterling,  songs  stal- 
wart sung, 

"Tipperary"  thundered  through  titanic 
tongue. 

United  States  urging  unarmament,  un- 
wanted, 

Visualised  victory  vociferously  vaunt- 
ed, 


Wilson's  warnings  wasted,  world  war 

wild, 
Xenian     Xanthochroi     Xantippically 

X-iled. 
Yorkshire's     young     yeomen     yelling 

youthfully, 
"Zigzag  Zeppelins,  Zuyder  Zee." 

JOHN  R.  EDWARDS. 

Hard  to  read,  but  a  whole  lot  harder 
to  write. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  HEINZ  VON 

STEIN 

Out  rode  from  his  wild,  dark  castle 
The  terrible  Heinz  von  Stein  j 

He  came  to  the  door  of  a  tavern 
And  gazed  on  its  swinging  sign, 

He  sat  himself  down  at  a  table, 
And  growled  for  a  bottle  of  wine; 

Up  came  with  a  flask  and  a  corkscrew 
A  maiden  of  beauty  divine. 

Then,  seized  with  a  deep  love-longing, 
He  uttered,  "0  damosel  mine, 

Suppose  you  just  give  a  few  kisses 
To  the  valorous  Ritter  von  Stein !" 

But  she  answered,  "The  kissing  busi- 
ness 

Is  entirely  out  of  my  line ; 
And  I  certainly  will  not  begin  it 

On  a  countenance  ugly  as  thine !" 

Oh,  then  the  bold  knight  was  angry, 
And  cursed  both  coarse  and  fine; 

And  asked,  "How  much  is  the  swindle 
For  your  sour  and  nasty  wine?" 

And  fiercely  he  rode  to  the  castle 
And  sat  himself  down  to  dine; 

And  this  is  the  dreadful  legend 
Of  the  terrible  Heinz  von  Stein. 
CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


151 


LOFTY  LINES 

Imparadised  by  my  environment, 

In  rhymes  impeccably  good, 
Let  me  scribble  as  poor,  proud  Byron 
meant 

To  have  scribbled  if  he  could. 
I'll  strain,  as  the  sinuous  camelopard 

Strains  after  the  blossomy  bough, 
And  with  faculties  that  develop  hard 

Let  me  write — I  can't  say  how. 


Impish  idiom's  idiosyncrasy 

Shall  my  verse  festoon  with  flowers; 
In  a  kingdom  of  pen-and-inkrasy 

I  shall  yield  prosodian  powers. 
Through  innumerous  apotheoses 

The  future  my  name  shall  learn, 
And  like  passionate,  plethoric  peonies 

My  perpetual  poems  burn. 


Let  my  glory  grow  as  the  icicle 

Accrues  between  night  and  morn ; 
As  the  bicyclist  rides  his  bicycle 

Let  me  on  my  metre  be  borne. 
Flashing  thus  on  verses  vehicular 

With  Pegasus  'neath  my  touch, 
My  method  can't  be  too  particular 

Nor  the  public  see  too  much. 


The  critics  are  all  anthropophagous; 

And  feed  on  poetic  flesh; 
My  heart  nestles  in  my  esophagus, 

To  think  I've  been  in  their  mesh. 
As  vessels  that  sail  on  the  Bosphorus, 

Catch  Constantinople's  beams, 
So  my  soul  from  Prosody's  phosphorus 

Still  gathers  Daedalian  gleams. 


Very  heavy  light  verse. 


OPTIMISM 

Be  brave,  faint  heart, 

The  dough  shall  yet  be  cake; 
Be  strong,  weak  heart, 

The  butter  is  to  come. 
Some  cheerful  chance  will  right  the 

apple-cart, 
The  devious  pig  will  gain  the  lucky 

mart, 

Loquacity  be  dumb, — 
Collapsed  the  fake. 
Be  brave,  faint  heart  1 


Be  strong,  weak  heart, 

The  path  will  be  made  plain; 
Be  brave,  faint  heart, 

The  bore  will  crawl  away. 
The  upside  down  will  turn  to  right 

side  up, 
The  stiffened  lip  compel  that  slipping 

cup, 

The  doldrums  of  the  day 
Be  not  in  vain. 
Be  strong,  weak  heart! 


Be  brave,  faint  heart, 

The  jelly  means  to  jell; 
Be  strong,  weak  heart, 

The  hops  are  in  the  malt, 
The  wrong  side  in  will  yet  turn  right 

side  out, 
The   long-time   lost    come   down   yon 

cormorant  spout. 
Life  still  is  worth  her  salt : 
What  ends  well's  well, 
Be  brave,  faint  heart ! 

N.  M. 


Now  this  is  the  real  Uplift  bunk, 
such  as  you  get  in  silk-tied  booklets. 
Lap  it  up. 


152 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


BALLAD  OF  THE  PRIMITIVE 
JEST 

I  am  an  ancient  Jest! 

Paleolithic  man 

In  his  arboreal  nest 

The  sparks  of  fun  would  fan; 

My  outline  did  he  plan, 

And  laughed  like  one  possessed, 

'Twas  thus  my  course  began, 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest. 

I  am  an  early  Jest! 

Man  delved  and  built  and  span; 

Then  wandered  South  and  West 

The  peoples  Aryan, 

I  journeyed  in  their  van; 

The  Semites,  too,  confessed, — 

From  Beersheba  to  Dan, — 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest. 

"I  am  an  ancient  Jest, 
Through  all  the  human  clan, 
Red,  black,  white,  free,  oppressed, 
Hilarious  I  ran! 
I'm  found  in  Lucian, 
In  Poggio,  and  the  rest, 
I'm  dear  to  Moll  and  Nan! 
I  am  a  Merry  Jest!" 

ENVOY  : 

Prince,  you  may  storm  and  ban — 
Joe  Millers  are  a  pest, 
Suppress  me  if  you  can! 
I  am  a  Merry  Jest! 

ANDREW  LANG. 

Old  jokes  are  best. 


LAY  OF  ANCIENT  ROME 

Oh,  the  Roman  was  a  rogue, 

He  erat  was,  you  bettum; 
He  ran  his  automobilus 

And  smoked  his  cigarettum. 
He  wore  a  diamond  studibus 

And  elegant  cravattum, 
A  maxima  cum  laude  shirt 

And  such  a  stylish  hattum! 

He  loved  the  luscious  hic-haec-hoc, 

And  bet  on  games  and  equi; 
At  times  he  won  at  others  though, 

He  got  it  in  the  nequi; 
He  winked,  (quo  usque  tandem?)  at 

Puellas  on  the  Forum, 
And  sometimes,  too,  he  even  made 

Those  goo-goo  oculoruml 

He  frequently  was  seen 

At  combats  gladiatorial, 
And  ate  enough  to  feed 

Ten  boarders  at  Memorial; 
He  often  went  on  sprees 

And  said,  on  starting  homus, 
"Hie  labour — opus  est, 

Oh,  where's  my  hie — hie — domus  ?" 

Although  he  lived  in  Rome, — 

Of  all  the  arts  the  middle — 
He  was,  (excuse  the  phrase,) 

A  horrid  individ'l; 
Ah,  what  a  different  thing 

Was  the  homo  (dative,  hominy) 
Of  far  away  B.  C. 

From  us  of  Anno  Domini. 

THOMAS  YBARRA. 

The  w.  k.  Latin  temperament. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


153 


A  SKETCH 

Scene — The  next  room.  Door  shut. 
Nothing  visible  except  an  audible  voice 
the  other  side  of  the  door.  Enter  audi- 
ble voice,  audibly,  speaking  orally  in 
vocal  accents: 

Hah! 

There  now! 

Hoi'  up! 

Hole  dup! 

Hole  dup  your  red! 

Can't  you  hold  your  head  dup! 

Put  tin! 

Puttit  tin! 

Put  tin  your  foot! 

Turn  round! 

Turn  a  round! 

Oh,  goodness  gracious!  don't  you 
know  how  to  turn  around? 

Hold  your  head  still! 

Don't  do  that ! 

T'other  arm! 

The  other  arm! 

Oh,  great  land !  go  to  your  mother ! 

(It  is  a  man  dressing  his  infant  son 
in  the  morning.) 

ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE. 

Always  something  really  funny 
about  Burdette. 


THE  FIDDLER  OF  DOONEY 

When  I  play  on  my  fiddle  in  Dooney, 
Folk  dance  like  a  wave  of  the  sea; 

My  cousin  is  priest  in  Kilvarnet, 
My  brother  in  Moharabuiee. 

I  passed  my  brother  and  cousin; 

They  read  in  their  books  of  prayer; 
I  read  in  my  book  of  songs 

I  bought  at  the  Sligo  fair. 


When  we  come  at  the  end  of  time, 
•    To  Peter  sitting  in  state, 
He  will  smile  on  the  three  old  spirits 
But  call  me  first  through  the  gate. 

For  the  good  are  always  the  merry, 

Save  by  an  evil  chance, 
And  the  merry  love  the  fiddle, 

And  the  merry  love  to  dance. 

And  when  the  folk  there  spy  me, 

They  all  come  up  to  me, 
With,  "Here  is  the  fiddler  of  Dooney !" 

And  dance  like  a  wave  of  the  sea. 
WILLIAM  BUTLER  YEATS. 

The    last    line   is   cribb'd,    but    not 
cabin'd  nor  confin'd. 

ADVICE  TO  GRANDSONS 

When  grandma  visits  you,  my  dears, 

Be  good  as  you  can  be ; 
Don't  put  hot  waffles  in  her  ears, 

Or  beetles  in  her  tea. 

Don't  work  a  pattern  on  her  cheek 
With  worsted  or  with  silk; 

Don't  call  her  naughty  names  in  Greek, 
Or  spray  her  face  with  milk. 

Don't  drive  a  staple  in  her  foot, 
Don't  stick  pins  in  her  head; 

And,  oh,  I  beg  you,  do  not  put 
Live  embers  in  her  bed. 

These  things  are  not  considered  kind 
They  worry  her,  and  tease — 

Such  cruelty  is  not  refined 
It  always  fails  to  please. 

Be  good  to  grandma,  little  chaps, 

Whatever  else  you  do; 
And    then    she'll    grow*  to    be,— per- 
haps,— 

More  tolerant  of  you. 

Cautionary  verse  a  long  way  after 
'Jane  and  Ann  Taylor's. 


154 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


/     '    * 

Naval  Courtesy 


W.  M.  THACKERAY. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


155 


SONG 

Three  score  and  ten  by  common  calcu- 
lation 
The  years  of  man  amount  to;  but 

we'll  say 

He  turns  four-score,  yet,  in  my  estima- 
tion, 

In  all  those  years  he  has  not  lived 
a  day. 

Out  of  the  eighty  you  must  first  re- 
member 
The  hours  of  night  you  pass  asleep 

in  bed; 
And,     counting    from    December    to 

December, 

Just  half  your  life  you'll  find  you 
have  been  dead. 

To  forty  years  at  once  by  this  reduc- 
tion 
We  come;   and  sure,   the  first  five 

from  your  birth, 
While  cutting  teeth  and  living  upon 

suction, 

You're  not  alive  to  what  this  life  is 
worth. 

From  thirty-five  next  take  for  educa- 
tion 
Fifteen  at  least  at  college  and  at 

school ; 

When,  notwithstanding  all  your  appli- 
cation, 

The  chances  are  you  may  turn  out  a 
fool. 

Still  twenty  we  have  left  us  to  dispose 

of, 
But  during  them  your  fortune  you've 

to  make; 
And  granting,  wifh  the  luck  of  some 

one  knows  of, 

'Tis  made  in  ten — that's  ten  from  life 
to  take. 


Out  of  the  ten  yet  left  you  must  allow 

for 
The   time   for   shaving,    tooth    and 

other  aches, 
Say   four — and   that   leaves,   six,   too 

short,  I  vow,  for 

Regretting  past  and  making  fresh 
mistakes. 

Meanwhile  each  hour  dispels  some  fond 

illusion ; 
Until  at  length,  sans  eyes,  sans  teeth, 

you  may 
Have  scarcely  sense  to  come  to  this 

conclusion — 

You've      reached      fourscore,      but 
haven't  lived  a  day! 

J.  R.  PLANCH& 

Figures  won't  lie. 

PESSIMISM 

In  the  age  that  was  golden,  the  halcyon 

time, 
All    the    billows    were    balmy    and 

breezes  were  bland. 
Then  the  poet  was  never  hard  up  for  a 

rhyme, 
Then  the  milk  and  the  honey  flew  free 

and  were  prime, 
And  the  voice  of  the  turtle  was  heard 

in  the  land. 

In  the  times  that  are  guilty  the  winds 

are  perverse, 
Blowing  fair  for  the  sharper  and 

foul  for  the  dupe. 
Now  the  poet's  condition  could  scarcely 

be  worse, 
Now    the    milk    and    the    honey    are 

strained  through  the  purse, 
And  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  dead  in 
the  soup. 

N.  M. 

Too  bad  he  feels  that  way  about  it. 


156 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


WAIL  OF  A  RETURNED  TOURIST 

I  have  seen  Paris,  I  have  been  to  Lon- 
don; 

Yet  no  one  listens  when  I  tell  about 
them. 

All,  all,  are  bores,  the  old  familiar 
places ! 


I've  been  to  Florence,  I  have  been  to 
Venice ; 


None  pays  attention  while  I  cite  their 

glories ; 
None  wants  to  hear  of  Renaissance  Art 

Treasures. 


I  have  a  friend,  a  kinder  friend  has  no 

man; 
Like  an   ingrate,  he  leaves  me  most 

abruptly 
When  I  begin  to  tell  of  English  Week- 

Ends. 


Tourist-like,  paced  I  all  the  haunts  of 

greatness ; 

Europe's  a  map  I  studiously  traversed. 
None   cares  for   Keats'   House — none 

cares  where  Carlyle  lived. 


Friend  of  my  bosom,  thou  more  than  a 

brother, 
Why  wert  thou  not  my  bondslave  and 

my  vassal, 
So  I  might  talk  to  thee  of  these  fair 

places ! 


Some   made    excuses — some   stealthily 

left  me ; 
Some  took  French  leave — but  all  are 

now  departed. 
Alone  I  muse  on  those  fair  foreign 

places. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


157 


HOMOEOPATHIC  SOUP 

Take  a  robin's  leg 
(Mind,  the  drumstick  merely) ; 

Put  it  in  a  tub 
Filled  with  water  nearly; 

Set  it  out  of  doors, 
In  a  place  that's  shady; 

Let  it  stand  a  week 
(Three  days  if  for  a  lady) ; 

Drop  a  spoonful  of  it 
In  a  five-pail  kettle, 

Which  may  be  made  of  tin 
Or  any  baser  metal; 

Fill  the  kettle  up, 
Set  it  on  a  boiling, 

Strain  the  liquor  well, 
To  prevent  its  oiling; 

One  atom  add  of  salt, 
For  the  thickening  one  rice  kernel, 

And  use  to  light  the  fire 
"The  Homoeopathic  Journal." 

Let  the  liquor  boil 
Half  an  hour,  no  longer, 

(If  'tis  for  a  man 
Of  course  you'll  make  it  stronger) . 

Should  you  now  desire 
That  the  soup  be  flavoury, 

Stir  it  once  around, 
With  a  stalk  of  savoury. 

When  the  broth  is  made, 
Nothing  can  excell  it: 

Then  three  times  a  day 
Let  the  patient  smell  it. 

If  he  chance  to  die, 
Say  'twas  Nature  did  it : 

If  he  chance  to  live, 
Give  the  soup  the  credit. 

I  suppose  his  wife  thought  it  witty. 
CONSTANCY 

"May  puppy  dogs  wag 
Their  tails  in  front 
If  ever  I  cease  to  love  I" 


"May  nice  mince  pies 
Be  made  of  flies 
If  ever  I  cease  to  love!" 

"May  cross-eyed  cats 
Go  back  on  rats 
If  ever  I  cease  to  love !" 

"May  the  Grand  Duke  Alexis 
Ride  a  blind  mule  to  Texas 
If  ever  I  cease  to  love !" 

Which,  after  all,  is  stronger  than 
Zoe  mou  sas  agapo. 


He  thought  he  saw  an  Elephant, 

That  practised  on  a  fife: 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A  letter  from  his  wife. 
"At  length  I  realise,"  he  said, 

"The  bitterness  of  Life!" 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Buffalo 

Upon  the  chimneypiece : 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

His  Sister's  Husband's  Niece. 
"Unless  you  leave  this  house,"  he  said, 

"I'll  send  for  the  Police!" 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Rattlesnake 
That  questioned  him  in  Greek: 

He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 
The  Middle  of  Next  Week. 

"The  one  thing  I  regret,"  he  said, 
"Is  that  it  cannot  speak!" 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Banker's  Clerk 

Descending  from  the  'bus: 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A  Hippopotamus. 
"If  this  should  stay  to  dine,"  he  said, 

"There  won't  be  much  for  us !" 

LEWIS  CARROLL. 

Inimitable  (successfully). 


158  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  DONG  WITH  A  LUMINOUS  NOSE 

When  awful  darkness  and  silence  reign 
Over  the  great  Gromboolian  plain, 

Through  the  long,  long  wintry  nights ; 
When  the  angry  breakers  roar 
As  they  beat  on  the  rocky  shore ; 

When  storm-clouds  brood  on  the  towering  heights 
Of  the  hills  of  the  Chankly  Bore,— 

Then,  through  the  vast  and  gloomy  dark 
There  moves  what  seems  a  fiery  spark, — 
A  lonely  spark  with  silvery  rays 
Piercing  the  coal-black  night, — 
A  Meteor  strange  and  bright : 
Hither  and  thither  the  vision  strays, 
A  single  lurid  light. 

Slowly  it  wanders,  pauses,  creeps, — 
Anon  it  sparkles,  flashes  and  leaps; 
And  ever  as  onward  it  gleaming  goes 
A  light  on  the  Bong-tree  stems  it  throws. 
And  those  who  watch  at  that  midnight  hour 
From  Hall  or  Terrace  or  lofty  Tower, 
Cry,  as  the  wild  light  passes  along, — 

"The  Dong!    The  Dong! 
The  wandering  Dong  through  the  forest  goes !" 

"The  Dong!    The  Dong! 
The  Dong  with  a  luminous  nose !" 

Long  years  ago 

The  Dong  was  happy  and  gay, 
Till  he  fell  in  love  with  a  Jumbly  girl 
Who  came  to  those  shores  one  day. 
For  the  Jumblies  came  in  a  sieve,  they  did, — 
Landing  at  eve  near  the  Zemmery  Fidd 

Where  the  Oblong  Oysters  grow. 
And  the  rocks  are  smooth  and  grey. 
And  all  the  woods  and  the  valleys  rang 
With  the  Chorus  they  daily  and  nightly  sang, — 
"Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green  and  their  hands  are  blue 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve." 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  159 


Happily,  happily  passed  those  days! 

While  the  cheerful  Jumblies  staid; 
They  danced  in  circlets  all  night  long, 
To  the  plaintive  pipe  of  the  lively  Dong, 

In  moonlight,  shine  or  shade. 
For  day  and  night  he  was  always  there 
By  the  side  of  the  Jumbly  girl  so  fair, 
With  her  sky-blue  hands  and  her  sea-green  hair, 
Till  the  morning  came  of  that  hateful  day 
When  the  Jumblies  sailed  in  their  sieve  away, 
And  the  Dong  was  left  on  the  cruel  shore, 
Gazing,  gazing  forevermore, — 
Ever  keeping  his  weary  eyes  on 
That  pea-green  sail  on  the  far  horizon, — 
Singing  the  Jumbly  chorus  still 
As  he  sate  all  day  on  the  grassy  hill, — 
"Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green  and  their  hands  are  blue, 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve." 

But  when  the  sun  was  low  in  the  west, 

The  Dong  arose  and  said; — 
"What  little  sense  I  once  possessed, 

Has  quite  gone  out  of  my  head  1" 
And  since  that  day  he  wanders  still 
By  lake  and  forest,  marsh  and  hill, 
Singing,  "Oh,  somewhere,  in  valley  or  plain, 
Might  I  find  my  Jumbly  girl  again ! 
Forever  I'll  seek  by  lake  and  shore 
Till  I  find  my  Jumbly  girl  once  more !" 

Playing  a  pipe  with  silvery  squeaks 
Since  then  his  Jumbly  girl  he  seeks; 
And  because  by  night  he  could  not  see 
He  gathered  the  bark  of  the  Twangum  tree 
On  the  flowery  plain  that  grows. 
And  he  wove  him  a  wondrous  Nose, — 
A  Nose  as  strange  as  a  Nose  could  be! 
Of  vast  proportions  and  painted  red, 
And  tied  with  cords  to  the  back  of  his  head. 
In  a  hollow,  rounded  space  it  ended, 
With  a  luminous  Lamp  within  suspended, 
All  fenced  about 
With  a  bandage  stout 
To  prevent  the  wind  from  blowing  it  out; 


160 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


And  with  holes  all  round  to  send  the  light 
In  gleaming  rays  on  the  dismal  night. 

And  now  each  night  and  all  night  long, 
Over  those  plains  still  roams  the  Dong; 
And  above  the  wail  of  the  Chimp  and  Snipe 
You  may  hear  the  squeak  of  his  plaintive  pipe, 
While  ever  he  seeks,  but  seeks  in  vain 
To  meet  with  his  Jumbly  girl  again; 
Lonely  and  wild,  all  night  he  goes, 
The  Dong  with  the  luminous  Nose ! 
And  all  who  watch  at  the  midnight  hour 
From  Hall  or  Terrace  or  lofty  Tower, 
Cry,  as  they  trace  the  Meteor  bright, 
Moving  along  through  the  dreary  night, — 
"This  is  the  hour  when  forth  he  goes, 
The  Dong  with  the  luminous  Nose! 
Yonder  over  the  plain  he  goes, 

He  goes! 

He  goes,— 
The  Dong  with  the  luminous  Nose !" 


EDWARD  LEAR. 


Of  interest  to  those  who  know  and  love  the  Jumblies. 


THE   SABINE   FARMER'S    SERE- 
NADE 


'Twas  on  a  windy  night, 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
An  Irish  lad  so  tight, 

All  wind  and  weather  scorning, 
At  Judy  Callaghan's  door, 

Sitting  upon  the  palings, 
His  love-tale  he  did  pour, 

And  this  was  part  of  his  wailings ; 

Only  say 
"You'll  be  Mrs,  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

n 

Oh !  list  to  what  I  say, 

Charms  you've  got  like  Venus; 
Own  your  love  you  may, 

There's  but  the  wall  between  us. 


You  lie  fast  asleep 

Snug  in  bed  and  snoring; 
Round  the  house  I  creep, 

Your  hard  heart  imploring. 

Only  say 
You'll  have  Mr.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

in 

I've  got  a  pig  and  a  sow, 

I've  got  a  sty  to  sleep  'em 
A  calf  and  a  brindled  cow, 

And  a  cabin  too,  to  keep  'em; 
Sunday  hat  and  coat, 

An  old  grey  mare  to  ride  on, 
Saddle  and  bridle  to  boot, 

Which  you  may  ride  astride  on. 

Only  say 
Tou'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


161 


IV 

I've  got  an  acre  of  ground, 

I've  got  it  set  with  praties; 
I've  got  of  'baccy  a  pound, 

I've  got  some  tea  for  the  ladies; 
I've  got  the  ring  to  wed, 

Some  whisky  to  make  \~s  gaily; 
I've  got  a  feather  bed 

And  a  handsome  new  shillelagh. 

Only  say 
You'll  have  Mr.  Brallagkan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 


You've  got  a  charming  eye, 

You've  got  some  spelling  and  read- 
ing 
You've  got,  and  so  have  I, 

A  taste  for  genteel  breeding; 
You're  rich,  and  fair,  and  young, 

As  everybody's  knowing; 
You've  got  a  decent  tongue 

Whene'er  'tis  set  a-going. 

Only  say 
You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

VI 

For  a  wife  till  death 

I  am  willing  to  take  ye ; 
But,  och !  I  waste  my  breath, 

The  devil  himself  can't  wake  ye. 
'Tis  just  beginning  to  rain, 

So  I'll  get  under  cover; 
To-morrow  I'll  come  again, 

And  be  your  constant  lover. 

Only  say 
You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

FATHER  PROUT. 

A  perfectly  good  old  song. 


FIN  DE  SIECLE 

Life  is  a  gift  that  most  of  us  hold  dear : 
I  never  asked  the  spiteful  gods  to 

grant  it; 
Held  it  a  bore — in  short;  and  now  it's 

here, 
I  do  not  want  it. 

Thrust  into  life,  I  eat,  smoke,  drink, 

and  sleep, 
My  mind's  a  blank  I  seldom  care  to 

question ; 

The  only  faculty  I  active  keep 
Is  my  digestion. 

Like  oyster  on  his  rock,  I  sit  and  jest 
At  others'  dreams  of  love  or  fame 

or  pelf, 

Discovering  but  a  languid  interest 
Even  in  myself. 

An  oyster :  ah !  beneath  the  quiet  sea 
To  know  no  care,  no  change,  no  joy, 

no  pain, 

The  warm  salt  water  gurgling  into  me 
And  out  again. 

While  some  in  life's  old  roadside  inns 

at  ease 
Sit  careless,   all  unthinking  of  the 

score 
Mine  host  chalks  up  in  swift  unseen 

increase 
Behind  the  door; 

Bound   like   Ixion    on   life's   torture- 
wheel, 

I  whirl  inert  in  pitiless  gyration, 
Loathing  it  all ;  the  one  desire  I  feel, 
Annihilation ! 

That   title  must  be  a  portmanteau 
word  meaning  finicky  and  cynical, 


162 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


GOOD  COUNSEL 

Little  children,  always  be 
Kind  to  everything  you  see. 
Do  not  kick  the  table's  legs, 
Don't  beat  unoffending  eggs. 

Do  not  mischievously  try 
To  poke  things  in  a  needle's  eye ; 
Nor  guilty  be  of  such  a  fault 
As  to  pinch  the  table  salt. 

Do  not  pull  a  teapot's  nose, 
Don't  ask  bread  what  time  it  rose. 
Little  pitchers'  ears  don't  tweak, 
Nor  smack  the  apple's  rosy  cheek. 

But  remember  it  is  right 

To  all  things  to  be  polite; 

Let  the  hay  scales  have  their  weigh, 

Wish  the  calendar  good  day. 

Kiss  the  clock  upon  its  face, 
Return  the  arm-chair's  fond  embrace. 
Greet  the  sieve  in  merry  strain, 
Ask  the  window  how's  its  pane. 

If  you  learn  to  show  such  traits 
To  your  dumb  inani-mates, 
Toward  your  playmates  then  you'll  find 
You've  an  amiable  mind. 

Dear  child,  remember,  wood  may  suffer 

pains, 
Oak  has  a  heart,  mahogany  has  veins. 

IN  WAIN! 
A  Willanelle  of  Wexation 

In    wain    would    I   the    British    Lion 

wake! 
In    wain    I'd    rouge    the    brute    to 

wilent  springing; 
His  tail  won't  wag,  his  mane  declines 

to  shake, 


In  wain  my  daily  'larum-bell  I  take, 
Till  his  ears  tingle  with  its  brazen 

ringing; 

In   wain   would    I   the   British   Lion 
wake! 

In  wain  I  warn  him  of  that  Northern 

snake, 
Who  midst  our  Injun  grass  will  soon 

be  stinging; 
His  tail  won't  wag,  his  mane  declines 

to  shake. 

He  sleeps  as  placid  as  a  windless  lake ; 
Cold  water  on  my  fire  his  calm  is 

flinging. 
His  tail  won't  wag,  his  mane  declines 

to  shake; 
In   wain    would   I    the   British   Lion 

wake! 

As  this  was  printed  in  London  in 
1877,  it  cannot  be  supposed  to  have 
any  bearing  on  matters  and  things  of 
the  present  day,  can  it? 

A  HELEN  OF  TODAY 

"Why  don't  yon  melt  your  flesh  away, 

Sister  Helen? 

You've  tried  that  diet  three  weeks  to- 
day  " 

"Think  you  not  I  look  thinner?    Say! 

Little  Brother." 
(O  menu,  Mahdah  menu. 
Three  weeks  today  between  health  and 
heaven!) 

"Me  seems  it  doesn't  work  with  you, 

Sister  Helen." 

"Yet  starch  and  sweets  are  strict  taboo, 
All  fats  and  carbohydrates  too, 

Little  Brother." 
(0  menu,  Mahdah  menu. 
What  fearful  fare  between  health  and 
heaven-}) 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


163 


"Oh,  the  buckwheat  cakes  were  fine  the 
morn, 

Sister  Helen; 
And  tonight  there's  pork  and  young 

green  corn 

"Stop,  stop!     You  make  me  fair  for- 
lorn, 

Little  Brother!" 
(0  menu,  Mdhddh  menu. 
What  joys   forbid   between   here   and 
heaven!) 

"You  had  no  breakfast  but  yellow  tea, 

Sister  Helen ; 
And   yet,   you're   fatter,   it   seems   to 

me, ' 

"No,  I  was  weighed,  and  I've  lost  'most 
three — 

Little  Brother." 
(O  menu,  Mahdah  menu. 
Three  pounds   of  fat   between  health 
and  heaven!) 


"Far  more  than  that  you  ought  to  shed, 

Sister  Helen." 
"But  I  loathe  to  be  ever  on  green  things 

fed,— 
I  weary  of  prunes  and  gluten  bread, 

Little  Brother." 
(0  menu,  Mahdah  menu. 
Three  chins  as  yet  between  health  and 
heaven!) 

"I  bother  not  with  a  diet  fad, 
Sister  Helen; 

Yet  am  I  thin  as  the  bony  shad " 

"Stop  eating  gumdrops!    You'll  drive 
me  mad !" 

(0  menu,  Mahdah  menu. 
I'd  rather  have  candy  than  health  or 
heaven!) 

But  Eossetti's  maidens  didn't  need 
this  sort  of  thing! 


THE   PIG 

Jacob!    I  do  not  love  to  see  thy  nose 
Turned  up  in  scornful  curve  at  yonder  pig, 
It  would  be  well,  my  friend,  if  thou  and  I 
Had,  like  that  pig,  attained  the  perfectness 
Made  reachable  by  Nature !  why  dislike 
The  sow-born  grunter? — he  is  obstinate, 
Thou  answerest,  ugly,  and  the  filthiest  beast 
That  banquets  upon  offal.    Now  I  pray  you 
Hear  the  pig's  counsel. 

Is  he  obstinate? 

We  must  not,  Jacob,  be  deceived  by  words, 
By  sophist  sounds.    A  democratic  beast, 
He  knows  that  his  unmerciful  drivers  seek 
Their  profit,  and  not  his.    He  hath  not  learnt 
That  pigs  were  made  for  man,  born  to  be  brawn'd 
And  baconised;  that  he  must  please  to  give 
Just  what  his  gracious  masters  please  to  take; 
Perhaps  his  tusks,  the  weapons  Nature  gave 
For  self-defence,  the  general  privilege; 
Perhaps — hark,  Jacob!  dost  thou  hear  that  horn? 
Woe  to  the  young  posterity  of  pork! 
Their  enemy  is  at  hand. 


164  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Again.     Thou  say'st 
The  pig  is  ugly.    Jacob,  look  at  him ! 
Those  eyes  have  taught  the  lover  flattery. 
His  face, — nay,  Jacob,  Jacob!  were  it  fair 
To  judge  a  lady  in  her  dishabille 
Fancy  it  drest,  and  with  saltpetre  rouged. 
Behold  his  tail,  my  friend;  with  curls  like  that 
The  wanton  hop  marries  her  stately  spouse; 
So  crisp  in  beauty  Amoretta's  hair 
Rings  round  her  lover's  soul  the  chains  of  love. 
And  what  is  beauty  but  the  aptitude 
Of  parts  harmonious?  give  thy  fancy  scope, 
And  thou  wilt  find  that  no  imagined  change 
Can  beautify  this  beast.     Place  at  his  end 
The  starry  glories  of  the  peacock's  pride; 
Give  him  the  swan's  white  breast  for  his  horn -hoofs; 
Shape  such  a  foot  and  ankle  as  the  waves 
Crowded  in  eager  rivalry  to  kiss, 
When  Venus  from  the  enamour'd  sea  arose; — 
Jacob,  thou  canst  but  make  a  monster  of  him; 
All  alteration  man  could  think,  would  mar 
His  pig-perfection. 

The  last  charge — he  lives 
A  dirty  life.     Here  I  could  shelter  him 
With  noble  and  right-reverend  precedents, 
And  show,  by  sanction  of  authority, 
That  'tis  a  very  honourable  thing 
To  thrive  by  dirty  ways.    But  let  me  rest 
On  better  ground  the  unanswerable  defence: 
The  pig  is  a  philosopher,  who  knows 
No  prejudice.     Dirt?     Jacob,  what  is  dirt? 
If  matter, — why  the  delicate  dish  that  tempts 
An  o'ergorged  epicure  to  the  last  morsel, 
That  stuffs  him  to  the  throat-gates,  is  no  more. 
If  matter  be  not,  but  as  sages  say, 
Spirit  is  all,  and  all  things  visible 
Are  one,  the  infinitely  modified, 
Think,  Jacob,  what  that  pig  is,  and  the  mire 
In  which  he  stands  knee-deep  ? 

And  there!  that  breeze 

Pleads  with  me,  and  has  won  thee  to  the  smile 
That  speaks  conviction.     O'er  yon  blossom'd  field 
Of  beans  it  came,  and  thoughts  of  bacon  rise. 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 

If  you  have  time  to  read  it,  it's  worth  while.     You  know  Southey  was 
Poet  Laureate,  which  is,  like  beauty,  a  vain  and  doubtful  good, 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


165 


A  BALLADE  OF  BAD  WEATHER 

Oh!  I'm  in  a  terrible  plight — 
For  how  can  I  rhyme  in  the  rain? 

'Tis  pouring  from  morn  until  night: 
So  bad  is  the  weather  again, 
My  language  is  almost  profane! 

Though  shod  with  the  useful  golosh, 
I'm  racked  with  a  rheumatic  pain, — 

I  think  that  a  Ballade  is  bosh! 

I  know  I  am  looking  a  fright; 

That  knowledge,  I  know,  is  in  vain; 
My  brolly  is  not  water-tight, 

But  hopelessly  rended  in  twain 

And  spoilt  by  the  rude  hurricane! 
Though  clad  in  a  stout  mackintosh, 

My  temper  I  scarce  can  restrain — 
I  think  that  a  Ballade  is  bosh! 

Oh,  I'm  an  unfortunate  wight! 

The  damp  is  affecting  my  brain; 
My  woes  I  would  gladly  recite, 

In  phrases  emphatic  and  plain, 

Your  sympathy  could  I  obtain. 
I  don't  think  my  verses  will  wash, 

They're  somewhat  effete  and  inane — 
I  think  that  a  Ballade  is  bosh! 

ENVOY: 

I  fancy  I'm  getting  insane, 
I'm  over  my  ankles  in  slosh; 

But  let  me  repeat  the  refrain — 
I  think  that  a  Ballade  is  bosh ! 

Put  up  complete  for  $4.69. 
THE  SMOKER'S  A,  B,  C 

Admirably  apt  aroma, 
Breathing  beatific  beauties; 
Causing  calm,  celestial  coma; 
Drowning  deep,  distasteful  duties. 
Each  enthusiast  enchanted, 
Fairy-fingered,  free  from  flurry, 
Grasps  great  gifts — good  genii  grant- 
ed— 


Hooting  hence  his  hateful  hurry. 
Incense — imagery  instilling. 
Juggle  joyance  juvenescent ! 
Kindness  keeping;  knockers  killing; 
Levy  lethargy  liquescent! 
Mascot  making  medication; 
New  nepenthe,  nutrimental; 
Obloquy  or  objurgation, 
Pass  philosophers  parental ! 
Quivering  queens  quit  quiet  quarry; 
Raining  rude  recrimination. 
Smoke,  suppressing  struggles  sorry, 
Tends  thus  to  tranquillisation. 
Umbras,  undisturbed,  upcurling, 
Vanquish  vehement  vexations, 
While    we    watch    wreathed    worries 

whirling — 

'Xperts  'xtol  'xhalations! 
Yet  your  yeast  ye  youngster  yellows; 
Zephyr,    Zoroastrian — zealous ! 

GEORGE  B.  MORE  WOOD. 

This  is  one  of  the  farthest  removes 
from  vers  libre.  Those  double  rhymes 
and  apt  alliterations  are  desperate 
shackles. 


SELECT     PASSAGES     FROM     A 
COMING  POET 

DISENCHANTMENT 

My  Love  has  sicklied  unto  Loath, 
And  foul  seems  all  that  fair  I  fan- 
cied— 

The  lily's  sheen's  a  leprous  growth, 
The  very  buttercups  are  rancid. 

ABASEMENT 

With  matted  head  a-dabble  in  the  dust, 
And  eyes  tear-sealed  in  a  saline  crust, 
I  lie  all  loathly  in  my  rags  and  rust — 
Yet  learn  that  strange  delight  may  lurk 
in  self -disgust. 


166 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


STANZA  WRITTEN  IN  DEPRESSION  NEAR 
DULWICH 

The  lark  soars  up  in  the  air; 

The  toad  sits  tight  in  his  hole; 
And  I  would  I  were  certain  which  of 
the  pair 

Were  the  truer  type  of  my  soul ! 


To  MY  LADY 

Twine,  lanken  fingers,  lily-lithe, 

Gleam,  slanted  eyes,  all  beryl-green, 

Pout,  blood-red  lips  that  burst  a-writhe, 
Then — kiss  me,  Lady  Grisoline! 


THE  MONSTER 

Uprears  the  monster  now  his  slobber- 

ous  head, 
Its    filamentous    chaps    her    ankles 

brushing; 
Her  twice-five  roseal  toes  are  cramped 

in  dread, 

Each  maidly  instep  mauven-pink  is 
flushing. 


A  TRUMPET  BLAST 

Pale    Patricians,    sunk    in    self-indul- 
gence, 
Blink  your  bleared  eyes.    Behold  the 

Sun- 
Burst  proclaim  in  purpurate  effulgence, 
Demos  dawning,  and  the  Darkness 
done! 

F.  ANSTEY. 

Colourful! 


THE  KILKENNY  CATS 

There  wanst  was  two  cats  at  Kilkenny, 
Each  thought  there  was  one  cat  too 
many, 

So  they  quarrell'd  and  fit, 

They  scratch'd  and  they  bit, 

Till,  excepting  their  nails, 

And  the  tips  of  their  tails, 
Instead  of  two  cats,  there  warnt  any. 

Haven't  you  always  liked  it? 


THE  WHITE  QUEEN'S  RIDDLE 

"  'First,  the  fish  must  be  caught.' 
That  is  easy:  a  baby,  I  think,  could 

have  caught  it. 

'Next,  the  fish  must  be  bought.' 
That  is  easy:  a  penny,  I  think,  would 
have  bought  it. 

"  'Now  cook  me  the  fish !' 
That  is  easy,  and  will  not  take  more 
than  a  minute. 

'Let  it  lie  in  a  dish!' 
That  is  easy,  because  it  already  is  in  it. 

"  'Bring  it  here !     Let  me  sup !' 
It  is  easy  to  set  such  a  dish  on  the 

table. 

'Take  the  dish  cover  up!' 
Ah,  that  is  so  hard  that  I  fear  I'm  un- 
able! 

"For  it  holds  it  like  glue — 
Holds  the  lid  to  the  dish,  while  Ft  lies 

in  the  middle: 
Which  is  easiest  to  do, 
Un-dish-cover  the  fish,  or  dishcover  the 
riddle?" 

LEWIS  CARROLL. 

Not  so  difficult  as  the  Riddle  of  the 
Sphinx,  but  more  interesting. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


167 


AMPLIFIED  SPELLING 

A  little  buoy  said:  "Mother,  deer, 
May  eye  go  out  two  play? 

The  son  is  bright,  the  heir  is  clear; 
Owe  mother,  don't  say  neigh." 

"Go  forth,  my  sun,"  the  mother  said; 

His  ant  said,  "Take  ewer  slay, 
Ewer  gneiss  knew  sled   awl   painted 
read, 

But  do  not  lose  ewer  weigh." 

"Owe,  know!"  he  cried,  and  sawt  the 

street 

With  hart  sew  full  of  glee. 
The  weather  changed,  and  snow  and 

sleet 
And  reign  fell  fierce  and  free. 

Threw  snowdrifts  grate,  threw  water 
pool, 

He  flue  with  mite  and  mane. 
Said  he,  "Tho  eye  wood  walk  by  rule, 

Eye  may  not  ride,  'tis  plane." 

"I'de  like  two  meat  some  kindly  sole, 
For  here  gnu  dangers  weight, 

And  yonder  stairs  a  treacherous  whole ; 
Two  sloe  has  bin  my  gate. 

"A  peace  of  bred,  a  gneiss  hot  stake, 
Eye'd  chew  if  eye  were  home; 

This  crewel  fair  my  hart  will  brake; 
I  love  knot  thus  two  Rome. 

"I'm   week   and   pail;   I've  mist   my 
rode," 

But  here  a  carte  came  passed. 
Buoy  and  his  slay  were  safely  toad 

Back  to  his  home  at  last. 


it! 


But  think  of  the  time  it  took  to  write 


WHAT  YOU  CAN  AND  WHAT 
YOU  CAN'T 

You  cannot  cure  hams  with  a  hammer, 
You  can't  weigh  a  gram  with  a  gram- 
mar, 

Mend  socks  with  a  socket, 
Build  docks  with  a  docket, 
Nor  gather  up  clams  with  a  clamour. 

You  can't  pick  locks  with  a  pickle, 
You  can't  cure  the  sick  with  a  sickle, 
Pluck  figs  from  a  figment, 
Drive  pigs  with  a  pigment, 
Nor  make  your  watch  tick  with  a  tickle. 

You  can't  make  a  mate  of  your  mater, 
You  can't  get  a  crate  from  a  crater, 

Catch  moles  with  a  molar, 

Bake  rolls  with  a  roller, 
But  you  can  get  a  wait  from  a  waiter. 

You  cannot  raise  crops  with  a  cropper, 
You  can't   shave  your   chops  with  a 

chopper, 

Break  nags  with  a  nagger, 
Shoot  stags  with  a  stagger, 
Nor  pop  to  a  girl  with  a  popper. 

You  can't  grow  your  beeves  from  the 

beaver, 
You   can't   catch   the   heaves  from   a 

heaver, 

Get  grains  from  a  grainer, 
Draw  strains  from  a  strainer, 
Nor  cleave  to  your  wife  with  a  cleaver. 

A  bat  can't  be  made  out  of  batter, 
A  flat's  not  a  thing  that  can  flatter, 

A  pond  does  not  ponder, 

A  wand  will  not  wander, 
And  so  that's  the  end  of  our  patter. 

"Even  Don  Ferdinando 
Can  do,  you  remember,  no  more  than 
he  can  do." 


168 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


FANCY  VERSES 

If  you  found  a  fancy  fairy  flinging 

feathers  from  a  fan, 
In  a  cavern  covered  closely  with  a 

curtain, 

Would  you  think  she  was  as  silly 
As  the  little  whale  named  Willy, 
Who  said  his  sister's  shoes  were  so 
uncertain? 

If  you  bumped  into  a  butcher  beaming 

blandly  on  a  bee, 
While  the  walrus  was  a  walking  on 

the  wall, 
Would   you    think    that    he   was 

worse 
Than    the   pig    that    pawned   his 

purse 

For  a  fashionable  frilly  frock  for 
fall? 

If  you  saw  a  saucy  sunfish  sitting  sew- 
ing in  a  swing, 
And  making  mauve  mantillas  for  her 

mate, 

Would  you  think  she  was  as  busy 
As  a  dotted  dormouse  dizzy, 
Who  was  driving  drowsy  donkeys 
down  to  date? 

If  you  met  a  mournful  monkey  mak- 
ing musconetcong  muffs, 
While  strolling  sadly  through  a  sun- 
set sea, 
Would  you  take  him  where  the 

tailor 

Slyly  slew  the  silly  sailor, 
Or  to  the  tidy  tapir's  tony  tea? 

Queer,  how  some  minds  work. 


THE  THEIFTY  MAN 

I  hate  to  be  dependent  on  what  the 

merchants  sell, 
For   oftentimes    their   choicest    wares 

don't  suit  me  very  well. 
They  have  such  dusty,  shopworn  things 

arrayed  upon  the  shelf, 
That  I've  concluded  I  shall  raise  some 

specialties  myself. 
My  wife  is  fond  of  jelly,  and  to  gratify 

her  wish 
I'm  going  to  keep  a  very  large  and 

healthy  jellyfish. 
And  if  we  feed  him  properly,  I'm  sure 

he  will  provide 
Enough   delicious   jelly    to   keep    our 

wants  supplied. 
Then,  as  I  look  about  the  house,  I  very 

often  find 
I  need  some  good  sole-leather  to  cover 

or  to  bind; 
So,  after  much  reflection,  I've  decided, 

on  the  whole, 
'Twould  be  a  good  investment  for  me 

to  keep  a  sole. 

Wife  uses  quite  a  lot  of  tape  in  sew- 
ing household  stuff, 
I  think  I'll  keep  a  tapir,  so  she  can 

have  enough. 
And  as  she  likes  fine  mohair  to  make  a 

sack  or  dress, 
I'm  going  to  buy  a  mo,  and  shear  him 

every  year,  I  guess. 
I'll  buy  a  healthy  young  one  and  keep 

him  till  he's  grown, 
For  when  you  want  a  real  good  thing 

it's  best  to  raise  your  own. 

Home-growing  wits  are  happiest. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


169 


LITERARY  ADVICE  TO  LOVERS 

Lover,  if  you  would  Landor  now, 
And  my  advice  will  Borrow, 

Raleigh     your     courage,     storm     her 

Harte— 
In  other  words,  be  Thoreau. 

You'll  have  to  Stowe  away  some  Sand, 
For  doubtless  you'll  find  later 

That  to  secure  a  Maiden's  hand 
Hug  and  tackle  Pater. 

Then  Hunt  a  Church  to  Marryat, 

An  Abbott  for  the  splice; 
And  as  you  Rideout  after  Ward, 

You  both  must  Dodge  the  Rice. 

Next  on  Heaven-Gissing  Hill 

A  Grant  of  Land  go  by, 
Whence   will   be   seen   far   Fields   of 
Green, 

All  Hay  and  Romany  Rye. 

Here  a  two-Story  House-man  builds; 

The  best  of  Holmes  is  it, 
You  make  sure  on  its  Sill 

The  dove  of  peace  Hazlitt. 

How    does    one    Wright   this   Motley 
verse, 

This  airy  persiflage? 
Marvel  no  Morris  to  Howitt's  Dunne, 

Just  Reade  Watson  this  Page! 

Would  you  rather  Wright  or  Reade 
stuff  like  that? 

A  DARWINIAN  BALLAD 

Oh,  many  have  told  of  the  monkeys  of 
old, 

What  a  pleasant  race  they  were, 
And  it  seems  most  true  that  I  and  you 

Are  derived  from  an  apish  pair. 
They  all  had  nails,  and  some  had  tails, 

And  some — no  "accounts  in  arrear"; 
They  climbed  up  the  trees,  and  they 


scratched  out  the — these 
Of  course  I  will  not  mention  here. 

They  slept  in   a  wood,   or  wherever 

they  could, 
For  they  didn't  know  how  to  make 

beds; 
They  hadn't  got  huts;  they  dined  upon 

nuts, 

Which  they  cracked  upon  each  oth- 
er's heads. 
They  hadn't  much  scope,  for  a  comb, 

brush  or  soap, 
Or  towels,  or  kettle  or  fire. 
They  had  no  coats  nor  capes,  for  ne'er 

did  these  apes 
Invent  what  they  didn't  require. 

The  sharpest  baboon  never  used  fork 

or  spoon, 

Nor  made  any  boots  for  his  toes, 
Nor  could  any  thief  steal  a  silk  hand- 

ker-chief, 
For   no   ape   thought  much   of  his 

nose; 
They  had  cold  collations;  they  ate  poor 

relations : 

Provided  for  thus,  by-the-bye. 
No     Ou-rang-ou-tang     a     song     ever 

sang — 
He  couldn't,  and  so  didn't  try. 

From  these  though  descended  our  man- 
ners are  mended, 

Though  still  we  can  grin  and  back- 
bite! 
We  cut  up  each  other,  be  he  friend  or 

brother, 

And  tales  are  the  fashion — at  night. 
This  origination  is  all  speculation — 

We  gamble  in  various  shapes; 
So  Mr.  Darwin  may  speculate  in 
Our  ancestors  having  been  apes. 

ANON. 

Is  it  atavism  that  makes  us  all  long 
to  exchange  our  effete  modern  civilisa- 
tion for  the  primitive  life? 


170 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


NORTH,  EAST,  SOUTH,  AND  WEST 
After  R.  K. 

Oh !  I  have  been  North,  and  I  have  been  South,  and  the  East  hath  seen  me  pass, 
And  the  West  hath  cradled  me  on  her  breast,  that  is  circled  round  with  brass, 
And  the  world  hath  laugh'd  at  me,  and  I  have  laugh'd  at  the  world  alone, 
With  a  loud  hee-haw  till  my  hard-work'd  jaw  is  stiff  as  a  dead  man's  bone ! 

Oh !  I  have  been  up  and  I  have  been  down  and  over  the  sounding  sea, 
And  the  sea-birds  cried  as  they  dropp'd  and  died  at  the  terrible  sight  of  me, 
For  my  head  was  bound  with  a  star,  and  crown'd  with  the  fire  of  utmost  fiell, 
And  I  made  this  song  with  a  brazen  tongue  and  a  more  than  fiendish  yell: 

"Oh !  curse  you  all,  for  the  sake  of  men  who  have  liv'd  and  died  for  spite, 
And  be  doubly  curst  for  the  dark  ye  make  where  there  ought  to  be  but  light, 
And  be  trebly  curst  by  the  deadly  spell  of  a  woman's  lasting  hate, — 
And  drop  ye  down  to  the  mouth  of  hell  who  would  climb  to  the  Golden  Gate!" 

Then  the  world  grew  green  and  grim  and  grey  at  the  horrible  noise  I  made, 
And  held  up  its  hands  in  a  pious  way  when  I  call'd  a  spade  a  spade; 
But  I  cared  no  whit  for  the  blame  of  it,  and  nothing  at  all  for  its  praise, 
And  the  whole  consign'd  with  a  tranquil  mind  to  a  sempiternal  blaze ! 

All  this  have  I  sped,  and  have  brought  me  back  to  work  at  the  set  of  sun, 

And  I  set  my  seal  to  the  thoughts  I  feel  in  the  twilight  one  by  one, 

For  I  speak  but  sooth  in  the  name  of  Truth  when  I  write  such  things  as  these; 

And  the  whole  I  send  to  a  critical  friend  who  is  learned  in  Kiplingese! 

H.  A.  M. 


Sincere  flattery. 
IN  MEMORIAM  TECHNICAM 

I  count  it  true  which  sages  teach — 
That  passion  sways  not  with  repose, 
That  love,   confounding  these  with 
those, 

Is  ever  welding  each  with  each. 

And  so  when  time  has  ebbed  away, 
Like    childish    wreaths    too    lightly 

held, 
The  song  of  immemorial  eld 

Shall  moan  about  the  belted  bay. 


Where  slant  Orion  slopes  his  star, 
To  swelter  in  the  rolling  seas, 
Till  slowly  widening  by  degrees 

The  grey  climbs  upward  from  afar. 

And  golden  youth  and  passion  stray 
Along  the  ridges  of  the  strand, — 
Not  far  apart,  but  hand  in  hand, — 

With  all  the  darkness  danced  away ! 
THOMAS  HOOD,  JR. 

A  not  altogether  vain  attempt  at  the 
Tennysonian  vein. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


171 


DREAM  POEM 

Soft  is  the  smell  of  it,  sweet  the  sad  sound  of  it, 
Mournfully  mingled  on  yon  mountain's  top, 

Grateful  and  green  and  caressing  the  ground  of  it, 
Calm  as  a  calyx  and  deep  as  a  drop. 

Ah !  the  enlivenment,  dark  as  the  distance ! 

Ah!  the  allurements  that  lavish  and  lave! 
Is  there  no  sound  but  the  sun's  sweet  insistence, 

Night  in  the  forest,  and  noon  on  the  wave? 

Fierce  as  a  festival,  fragrant  and  fading, 

Grim  as  the  grandeur  that  dreams  of  a  day, 

Is  there  no  balm  in  Love's  lavish  unlading, 
Born  in  the  brightness,  and  grieving  and  grey? 

Lo!  in  the  glimmering,  sweet  Aphrodite, 

Ghastly  and  gracious  and  groaning  and  grave, 

Brilliant  in  banishment,  mournful  and  mighty, 
Soft  as  the  samite  that  sinks  in  the  wave! 

Light  are  the  longings  that  listen  and  linger: 
Ah !  the  sick  kingdoms  that  grapple  and  groan 

Red  as  Republics  that  point  the  far  finger, 
Or  hail  the  horizon,  aghast  and  alone. 

Sinks  in  the  distance  the  Dream  and  the  Dreaming, 
Leaves  the  wide  world  to  its  pining  and  pain; 

From  the  great  Universe,  lo !  in  the  gleaming, 
Blazes  the  bandersnatch,  faithless  and  fain. 


Beautiful! 

ANCESTRAL  LORE 

This  man's  of  noble  pedigree,  and  that 

is  why,  no  doubt,  he 
Sits  glum  in  his   ancestral  halls,  so 

taciturn  and  gouty. 

Of  course  heredity  has  laws,  and  in 

obedience  thereto, 
By  looking  at  his  ancestors,  we  learn 

what  he  is  heir  to. 

'Tis  from  the  gay,  convivial  one,  he 
probably  inherits 


ANON. 


His  pretty  taste  in  vintages,  and  judg- 
ment of  their  merits. 


And  to  the  armoured  gentleman,  un- 
smiling and  disdainful, 

He  owes  the  stiffness  in  his  joints, 
which  is,  no  doubt,  quite  painful. 


And  tLus,  we  see,  heredity  is  quite  a 

pretty  science; 
To  its  inexorable  laws  we  may  not  bid 

defiance. 


172 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  WEDDING 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere! 

I  hardly  know  what  I  must  say, 

But   I'm   to   be   Queen   of   the   May, 

mother, 

I'm  to  be  Queen  of  the  May! 
I  am  half-crazed;  I  don't  feel  grave, 
Let  me  rave! 

Whole  weeks  and  months,  early  and 

late, 

To  win  his  love  I  lay  in  wait. 
Oh,  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see, 
As  fair  as  any  man  could  be; — 
The  wind  is  howling  in  turret  and 
tree! 

We  two  shall  be  wed  tomorrow  morn, 

And  I  shall  be  the  Lady  Clare, 
And  when  my  marriage  morn  shall  fall, 
I  hardly  know  what  I  shall  wear. 
But    I    shan't    say    "my    life    is 

dreary," 

And  sadly  hang  my  head, 
With  the  remark,  "I'm  very  weary, 
And  wish  that  I  were  dead." 

But  on  my  husband's  arm  I'll  lean, 
And   roundly    waste    his    plenteous 

gold, 
Passing  the  honeymoon  serene 

In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old. 
For  down  we'll  go  and  take  the  boat 
Beside  St.  Katherine's  docks  afloat, 
Which    round    about    its    prow    has 

wrote — 

"The  Lady  of  Shalotter" 
(Mondays    and    Thursdays, — Captain 

Foat), 
Bound  for  the  Dam  of  Rotter. 

THOMAS  HOOD,  JR. 

And  yet  one  of  the  younger  English 
poets  recently  said  that  Tennyson's 
works  ought  to  be  thrown  into  the  ash- 
heap  I 


OUR  HYMN 

At  morning's  call 

The  small-voiced  pug  dog  welcomes  in 

the  sun, 
And  flea-bit  mongrels  wakening  one  by 

one, 
Give  answer  all. 

When  evening  dim 

Draws  rounds  us,  then  the  lovely  cater- 
waul, 

Tart  solo,  sour  duet  and  general  squall, 
These  are  our  hymn. 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


INSPECT  US 

Out  of  the  clothes  that  cover  me 
Tight  as  the  skin  is  on  the  grape, 

I  thank  whatever  gods  may  be 
For  my  unconquerable  shape. 

In  the  fell  clutch  of  bone  and  steel 
I  have  not  whined  nor  cried  aloud; 

Whatever  else  I  may  conceal, 

I  show  my  thoughts  unshamed  and 
proud. 

The  forms  of  other  actorines 
I  put  away  into  the  shade; 

All  of  them  flossy  near  blondines 
Find  and  shall  find  me  unafraid. 

It  matters  not  how  straight  the  tape, 
How  cold  the  weather  is,  or  warm — 

I  am  the  mistress  of  my  shape — 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  form. 

EDITH  DANIELL. 

Be  good,  sweet  child,  already  you  are 
clever. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  173 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  EMEU 

O  say,  have  you  seen  at  the  Willows  so  green — 

So  charming  and  rurally  true — 
A  Singular  bird,  with  a  manner  absurd, 

Which  they  call  the  Australian  Emeu? 
Have  you? 

Ever  seen  this  Australian  Emeu? 

It  trots  all  around  with  its  head  on  the  ground, 

Or  erects  it  quite  out  of  your  view; 
And  the  ladies  all  cry,  when  its  figure  they  spy, 

"0,  what  a  sweet  pretty  Emeu ! 
Oh!  do 

Just  look  at  that  lovely  Emeu!" 

One  day  to  this  spot,  when  the  weather  was  hot, 

Came  Matilda  Hortense  Fortescue; 
And  beside  her  there  came  a  youth  of  high  name — 

Augustus  Florell  Montague: 

The  two 

Both  loved  that  wild  foreign  Emeu. 

With  two  loaves  of  bread  then  they  fed  it,  instead 

Of  the  flesh  of  the  white  cockatoo, 
Which  once  was  its  food  in  that  wild  neighbourhood 

Where  ranges  the  sweet  kangaroo 
That,  too, 

Is  game  for  the  famous  Emeu ! 

Old  saws  and  gimlets  but  its  appetite  whet 

Like  the  world  famous  bark  of  Peru; 
There's  nothing  so  hard  that  the  bird  will  discard, 

And  nothing  its  taste  will  eschew, 
That  you 

Can  give  that  long-legged  Emeu ! 

The  time  slipped  away  in  this  innocent  play, 

When  up  jumped  the  bold  Montague: 
"Where's  that  specimen  pin  that  I  gaily  did  win 

In  raffle,  and  gave  unto  you, 

Fortescue?" 

No  word  spoke  the  guilty  Emeu ! 

"Quick!  tell  me  his  name  whom  thou  gavest  that  same, 

Ere  these  hands  in  thy  blood  I  imbrue!" 
"Nay,  dearest,"  she  cried  as  she  clung  to  his  side, 


174 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


"I'm  innocent  as  that  Emeu!" 

"Adieu!" 
He  replied,  "Miss  M.  H.  Fortescue  1" 

Down  she  dropped  at  his  feet,  all  as  white  as  a  sheet, 

As  wildly  he  fled  from  her  view; 
He  thought  'twas  her  sin — for  he  knew  not  the  pin 
Had  been  gobbled  up  by  the  Emeu; 
All  through 
"I'm  innocent  as  that  Emeu!" 

BEET  HARTE. 
No,  1  don't  think  it's  very  funny,  either. 


"KULTURISED"  POETRY 

Being  a  determined  effort  of  the  crea- 
tive brain  to  respond  during  the  excite- 
ment of  a  world  war 

The  little  toy  dog  is  covered  with  dust, 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep; 
I  shall  be  mute  as  all  men  must — 

Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 
For  life,  six  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
Out  of  the  everywhere  into  the  here, 
Oh  God !  that  bread  should  be  so  dear ! 
An'  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever 
in  the  mornin'. 

In  winter  I  get  up  at  night, 

When  stars  are  in  the  quiet  skies; 
Yet,  tho'  thy  smile  be  lost  to  sight, 
Look  at  me  with  thy  large  brown 

eyes. 

"Oh  stay,"  the  maiden  said,  "and  rest; 
Drink  ye  to  her  that  each  loves  best — " 
When  Jessie  comes  with  her  soft  breast, 
My  heart's  right  there! 

A  fool  there  was,  and  he  made  his 

prayer, 

Too  late  for  love,  too  late  for  joy; 
Wreathe  no  more  lilies  in  my  hair, 
Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy! 
The  rosy  clouds  float  overhead, 
Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
"The  time  has  come,"  the  Walrus  said, 
Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 


I  never  saw  a  purple  cow, 

Unthinking,  idle,  wild,  and  young; 
Along  the  garden  ways  just  now, 

The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue. 
It  was  six  men  of  Indostan, 
Weak  and  irresolute  is  man, 
"Catch  her  and  hold  her  if  you  can," 
Said  I  to  myself,  said  I. 

Tell  me  not,  sweet,  I  am  unkind, 

In  spring  of  youth  it  was  my  lot ; 
That    which    her    slender    waist    con- 
fined  

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot? 
The  white  moth  to  the  closing  vine, 
In  lands  of  palm  and  southern  pine, 
Why  bowest  thou,  0  soul  of  mine? 
You're  a  better  man  than  I  am, 
Gunga  Din ! 

When  I  was  ten,  and  she  fifteen, 
We  pledged  our  hearts,  my  love  and 

i; 

A  rare  old  plant  is  the  ivy  green, 

Whither,  0  whither  didst  thou  fly? 
Oh  leave  this  barren  spot  to  me, 
With  little  here  to  do  or  see, 
Who  is  Silvia?    What  is  she? 
My  mother. 
KENNETH  F.  H.  UNDERWOOD. 

About  the  best  of  this  sort. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


175 


THE  HOMELY  PATHETIC 

The  dews  are  heavy  on  my  brow; 

My  breath  comes  hard  and  low ; 
Yet,  mother  dear,  grant  one  request 

Before  your  boy  must  go. 
Oh !  lift  me  ere  my  spirit  sinks, 

And  ere  my  senses  fail; 
Place  me  once  more,  oh,  mother  dear, 

Astride  the  old  fence  rail. 

The  old  fence-rail,  the  old  fence-rail ! 

How  oft  these  youthful  legs, 
With  Alice  and  Ben  Bolt's  were  hung 

Across  those  wooden  pegs. 
'Twas  there  the  nauseating  smoke 

Of  my  first  pipe  arose; 
Oh,  mother  dear!  these  agonies 

Are  far  less  keen  than  those! 

I  know  where  lies  the  hazel  dell, 

Where  simple  Nellie  sleeps ; 
I  know  the  cot  of  Nellie  Moore, 

And  where  the  willow  weeps. 
I  know  the  brookside  and  the  mill, 

But  all  their  pathos  fails 
Beside  the  days  when  once  I  sat 

Astride  the  old  fence  rails. 

BRET  HABTE. 


THE  AWFUL  BUGABOO 

There  was  an  awful  Bugaboo 

Whose  Eyes  were  Red  and  Hair  was 

Blue; 
His  Teeth  were  Long  and  Sharp  and 

white 
And  he  went  Prowling  'round  at  Night. 

A  little  Girl  was  Tucked  in  Bed, 
A  pretty  Night  Cap  on  her  Head; 
Her  Mamma  heard  her  Pleading  Say, 
"Oh,  do  not  Take  the  Lamp  away  I" 


But  Mamma  took  away  the  Lamp 
And    oh,    the    Room   was   Dark    and 

Damp; 

The  little  Girl  was  Scared  to  Death — 
She  did  not  Dare  to  Draw  her  Breath. 


And  all  at  Once  the  Bugaboo 

Came    Rattling    down    the    Chimnej 

Flue; 

He  Perched  upon  the  little  Bed 
And  scratched  the  Girl  until  she  bled. 


He   drank  the  Blood   and   Scratched 

again — 

The  little  Girl  cried  out  in  Vain — 
He  picked  Her  up  and  Off  he  Flew — 
This  Naughty,  Naughty  Bugaboo ! 


So,  children,  when  in  Bed  to-night, 
Don't  let  them  Take  away  the  Light, 
Or  else  the  Awful  Bugaboo 
May  come  and  Fly  away  with  You! 

EUGENE  FIELD. 


176 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  JELLYFISH 

As  the  waves  slip  over  my  cuticle  sleek 

They  tickle  my  soul  with  glee, 
And  I  shake  with  a  visceral,  saccharine  joy 
In  the  place  where  my  ribs  should  be. 
For  I'm  simply  a  lump  of  limpid  lard, 

With  a  gluey  sort  of  a  wish 
To  pass  my  time  in  the  oozing  slime — 
In  the  home  of  the  jellyfish. 

But  I'm  happy  in  having  no  bones  to  break 

In  my  unctuous,  wavering  form, 
And  I  haven't  a  trace — nor,  indeed,  any  place 
For  the  dangerous  vermiform. 

For  I'm  built  on  the  strictest  economy  plan, 

And  the  model  was  made  in  a  rush, 
While  essaying  to  think  almost  drives  me  to  drink, 
For  I'm  simply  a  mass  of  mush. 

At  night,  when  I  slide  on  the  sandy  beach, 
And  the  moonbeams  pierce  me  through, 
The  tears  arise  in  my  gelatine  eyes 
And  I  gurgle  a  sob  or  two. 

For  I  wonder — ah,  me! — in  the  time  to  come, 

When  the  days  are  no  longer  young, 
What  fish's  digestion  will  suffer  congestion 
When  the  end  of  my  song  is  sung. 

JAKVIS  KEILEY. 


A  soft,  Lydian  measure. 
THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CARPET 

Basking  in  peace  in  the  warm  spring 

sun, 
South  Hill  smiled  upon  Burlington. 

The  breath  of  May!  and  the  day  was 

fair, 
And  the  bright  motes  danced  in  the 

balmy  air. 

And  the  sunlight  gleamed  where  the 

restless  breeze 
Kissed    the   fragrant   blooms   on    the 

apple-trees. 


His  beardless  cheek  with  a  smile  was 

spanned, 
As  he  stood  with  a  carriage  whip  in  his 

hand. 


And  he  laughed  as  he  doffed  his  bobtail 

coat, 
And  the  echoing  folds  of  the  carpet 

smote. 


And  she  smiled  as  she  leaned  on  her 

busy  mop, 
And  said  she'd  tell  him  when  to  stop. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


177 


So  he  pounded  away  till  the  dinner- 
bell 
Gave  him  a  little  breathing  spell. 

But  he  sighed  when  the  kitchen  clock 

struck  one, 
And  she  said  the  carpet  wasn't  dene. 

But  he  lovingly  put  in  his  biggest  licks, 
And  he  pounded  like  mad  till  the  clock 
struck  six. 

And  she  said,  in  a  dubious  sort  of  way, 
That  she  guessed  he  could  finish  it  up 
next  day. 

Then  all  that  day,  and  the  next  day, 

too 
That  fuzz  from  the  dirtless  carpet  flew. 

And  she'd  give  it  a  look  at  eventide, 
And  say,  "Now  beat  on  the  other  side." 

And  the  new  days  came  as  the  old  days 

went, 
And  the  landlord  came  for  his  regular 

rent. 

And   the  neighbours   laughed   at   the 

tireless  broom, 
And  his  face  was  shadowed  with  clouds 

of  gloom. 

Till  at  last,  one  cheerless  winter  day, 
He  kicked  at  the  carpet  and  slid  away. 

Over  the  fence  and  down  the  street, 
Speeding  away  with  footsteps  fleet. 

And  never  again  the  morning  sun 
Smiled  on  him  beating  his  carpet-drum. 

And    South   Hill    often   said   with   a 

yawn, 
"Where's  the  carpet-martyr  gone?" 

Years    twice    twenty    had    come   and 
passed 


And  the  carpet  swayed  in  the  autumn 
blast. 

For  never  yet,  since  that  bright  spring- 
time, 

Had  it  ever  been  taken  down  from  the 
line. 

Over  the  fence  a  grey-haired  man 
Cautiously    clim,    dome,    clem,    clum, 
clamb. 

He  found  him  a  stick  in  the  old  wood- 
pile, 

And  he  gathered  it  up  with  a  sad,  grim 
smile. 

A  flush  passed  over  his  face  forlorn 
As  he  gazed  at  the  carpet,  tattered  and 
torn. 

And    he    hit    it    a    most    resounding 

thwack, 
Till  the  startled  air  gave  his  echoes 

back. 

And  out  of  the  window  a  white  face 

leaned, 
And    a    palsied   hand   the   pale   face 

screened. 

She  knew  his  face;  she  gasped,  and 

sighed, 
"A  little  more  on  the  other  side." 

Right  down  on  the  ground  his  stick  he 

throwed, 
And  he  shivered  and  said,  "Well,  I 

am  blowed!" 

And  he  turned  away,  with  a  heart  full 

sore, 
And  he  never  was  seen  not  more,  not 

more. 

ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE. 

About  as  modern  as  a  Eogers  Group 
and  almost  as  funny. 


178 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


TO  BE  OR  NOT  TO  BE 
i 

I  sometimes  think  I'd  rather  crow 
And  be  a  rooster  than  to  roost 
And  be  a  crow.    But  I  dunno. 

n 

A  rooster  he  can  roost  also, 

Which    don't   seem   fair   when   crows 

can't  crow. 
Which  may  help  some.    Still  I  dunno. 

in 

Crows  should  be  glad  of  one  thing, 

though ; 

Nobody  thinks  of  eating  crow, 
While  roosters  they  are  good  enough 
For  anyone  unless  they're  tough. 

IV 

There  are  lots  of  tough  old  roosters, 

though, 

And  anyway  a  crow  can't  crow, 
So  mebby  roosters  stand  more  show. 
It  looks  that  way.    But  I  dunno. 

One  of  the  best  expositions  of  "The 
Lady  or  The  Tiger"  plot. 

ALL  OR  NOTHING 

Whoso  answers  my  questions 

Knoweth  more  than  me; 
Hunger  is  but  knowledge 

In  a  less  degree; 
Prophet,  priest  and  poet 

Oft  prevaricate, 
And  the  surest  sentence 

Hath  the  greatest  weight. 

When  upon  my  gaiters 
Drops  the  morning  dew, 


Somewhat  of  Life's  riddle 
Soaks  my  spirit  through. 

I'm  buskin'd  by  the  goddess 
Of  Monadnock's  crest, 

And  my  wings  extended 
Touch  the  East  and  West. 

Or  ever  coal  was  hardened 

In  the  cells  of  earth, 
Or  flowed  the  founts  of  Bourbon, 

Lo,  I  had  my  birth. 
I  am  crowned  coeval 

With  the  Saurian  eggs, 
And  my  fancy  firmly 

Stands  on  its  own  legs. 

Wouldst  thou  know  the  secret 

Of  the  barberry-bush, 
Catch  the  slippery  whistle 

Of  the  moulting  thrush, 
Dance  upon  the  mushrooms, 

Dive  beneath  the  sea, 
Or  anything  else  remarkable, 

Thou  must  follow  me ! 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

A  PORTRAIT 

It  may  be  so — perhaps  thou  hast 

A  warm  and  loving  heart; 
I  will  not  blame  thee  for  thy  face; 

Poor  devil  as  thou  art. 
That  thing  thou  fondly  deem'st  a  nose, 

Unsightly  though  it  be — 
In  spite  of  all  the  cold  world's  scorn, 

It  may  be  much  to  thee. 

Those  eyes — among  thine  elder  friends, 

Perhaps  they  pass  for  blue; 
No  matter — if  a  man  can  see, 

What  more  have  eyes  to  do? 
Thy  mouth — that  fissure  in  thy  face, 

By  something  like  a  chin, 
May  be  a  very  useful  place 

To  put  thy  victuals  in. 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


WICKED   WASTE 


Effie   (who  has  been  exploring  the  ash-pit) — Look,  Daddy,  somebody's 
f rowed  away  quite  a  good  cat!  — The  Sketch. 


Without  a  home,  without  a  name, 
This  cat  achieved  posthumous  fame; 
Nine  lives  brought  her  no  special  glory, 
But  Death  put  her  in  deathless  story. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


179 


ALLITERATIVE  ABSURDITIES 

If  you  caught  a  captious  curate  killing 

kippers  for  the  cook, 
In  the  cloisters  with  a  club  yclept  a 

cleek, 

Would  you  say  he  was  as  wily 
As  a  cunning  crocodily 
Catching  cockles  with  a  corkscrew  in  a 
creek? 

If  you  beheld  a  battleboat  bombarding 

Biscay  Bay 
While  the  big  guns  bellowed  bold  from 

brazen  throat, 

Would  you  say  it  was  as  funny 
As  a  bouncing  blue-backed  bunny 
Blowing  bubbles  with  a  bobby  in  a 
boat? 

If  you  saw  a  drivelling  dreamer  drown- 
ing ducklings  in  a  ditch, 

And  deducting  data  dry  as  dust  to  see, 
Would  you  say  that  this  death-dealer 
Was  of  ducks  and  drakes  a  stealer, 

Or  of  Darwin's  dead  ideas  a  devotee? 

John  Bully  nonsense. 

WHY  NOT? 

The  verse  you  write 
You  say  is  written; 

All  rules  despite, 
But  not  despitten. 

The  gas  you  light 
Is  never  litten. 

The  things  you  drank 
Were  doubtless  drunk; 

The  boy  you  spank 
Is  never  spunk 

A  friend  you  thank 
But  never  thunk. 

Suppose  you  speak, 
Then  you  have  spoken; 


But  if  you  sneak 

You  have  not  snoken. 

The  shoes  that  squeak 
Have  never  squoken. 

A  dog  will  bite, 
Likewise  has  bitten 

With  all  his  might, 
But  not  his  mitten. 

You  fly  your  kite, 
But  not  your  kitten. 

Consistency,   the   well-known  jewel, 
consists  in  being  consistent. 


THE  CROCODILE 

Whatever  our  faults  we  can  always  en- 
gage 
That  no  fancy  or  fable  shall  sully  our 

page, 

So  take  note  of  what  follows,  I  beg. 
This  creature  so  grand  and  august  in 

its  age, 
In  its  youth  is  hatched  out  of  an  egg. 

And  oft  in  some  far  Coptic  town 
The  Missionary  sits  him  down 

To  breakfast  by  the  Nile: 
The  heart  beneath  his  priestly  gown 

Is  innocent  of  guile; 

When  suddenly  the  rigid  frown 
Of  Panic  is  observed  to  drown 

His  customary  smile. 
Why  does   he  start  and  leap   amain, 
And  scour  the  sandy  Libyan  plain, 
Like  one  that  wants  to  catch  a  train, 
Or  wrestles  with  internal  pain? 
Because  he  finds  his  egg  contain — 
Green,  hungry,  horrible  and  plain — 
An  Infant  Crocodile. 

HILAIRE  BELLOC. 


180 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  MICROBE'S  SERENADE 

A  lovelorn  microbe  met  by  chance 
At  a  swagger  bacteroidal  dance 
A  proud  bacillian  belle,  and  she 
Was  first  of  the  animalcule?. 
Of  organism  saccharine, 
She  was  the  protoplasmic  queen. 
The  microscopical  pride  and  pet 
Of  the  biological  smartest  set, 
And  so  this  infinitesimal  swain 
Evolved  a  pleading  low  refrain : 

"0  lovely  metamorphic  germ, 
What  futile  scientific  term 
Can     well     describe     your    many 

charms  ? 

Come  to  these  embryonic  arms, 
Then  hie  away  to  my  cellular  home, 
And  be  my  little  diatom !" 

His  epithelium  burned  with  love, 
He  swore  by  molecules  above 
She'd  be  his  own  gregarious  mate, 
Or  else  he  would  disintegrate. 
This  amorous  mite  of  a  parasite 
Pursued    the    germ    both    day    and 

night, 

And  'neath  her  window  often  played 
This  Darwin-Huxley  serenade — 
He'd  warble  to  her  every  day 
This  rhizopodical  roundelay: 

"0  most  primordial  type  of  spore, 
I  never  met  your  like  before. 
And  though  a  microbe  has  no  heart, 
From  you,  sweet  germ,  I'll  never 

part. 
We'll    sit    beneath    some    fungus 

growth 

Till  dissolution  claims  us  both!' 
GEORGE  ADE. 

I  like  his  Fables  in  Slang. 


A  SETTIN'  HEN 

When  a  hen  is  bound  to  set, 
Seems  as  though  'tain't  etiket 
Dowsin'  her  in  water  till 
She's  connected  with  a  chill. 
Seems  as  though  'twas  skursely  right 
Givin'  her  a  dreadful  fright, 
Tyin'  rags  around  her  tail, 
Poundin'  on  an  old  tin  pail, 
Chasin'  her  around  the  yard. 
Seems  as  though  'twas  kind  of  hard 
Bein'  kicked  and  slammed  and  shooed 
'Cause  she  wants  •  to  raise  a  brood. 
I  sh'd  say  itjs  gettin'  gay 
Jest  'cause  natur'  wants  its  way. 
While  ago  my  neighbour,  Penn, 
Started  bustin'  up  a  hen; 
Went  to  yank  her  off  the  nest; 
Hen,  though,  made  a  peck,  and  jest 
Grabbed  his  thumb-nail  good  and  stout, 
Almost  yanked  the  darn  thing  out. 
Penn  he  twitched  away  and  then, 
Tried  again  to  grab  that  hen. 
But,  by  ginger!  she  had  spunk, 
'Cause  she  took  and  nipped  a  hunk 
Big's  a  bean  right  out  his  palm, 
Swallered  it,  and  cool  and  calm 

H'isted  up  and  yelled  "Cah-dah " 

Sounded  like  she  said  "Hoo-rah!" 
Wai,  sir,  when  that  hen  done  that, 
Penn  he  bowed,  took  off  his  hat, 
Spunk  jest  suits  him,  you  can  bet : 
"Set,"  says  he,  "gol  darn  ye,  SET !" 
HOLMAN  F.  DAY. 

Try  this  on  your  whatnot. 

THE  STORY  OF  ESAW  WOOD 

Esaw  Wood  sawed  wood. 

Esaw  Wood  would  saw  wood! 

All  the  wood  Esaw  Wood  saw  Esaw 
Wood  would  saw.  In  other  words,  all 
the  wood  Esaw  saw  to  saw  Esaw 
sought  to  saw. 

Oh,  the  wood  Wood  would  saw !  And 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


181 


oh,   the  wood-saw  with  which  Wood 
would  saw  wood. 

But  one  day  Wood's  wood-saw  would 
saw  no  wood,  and  thus  the  wood  Wood 
sawed  was  not  the  wood  Wood  would 
saw  if  Wood's  wood-saw  would  saw 
wood. 

Now,  Wood  would  saw  wood  with  a 
wood-saw  that  would  saw  wood,  so 
Esaw  sought  a  saw  that  would  saw 
wood. 

One  day  Esaw  saw  a  saw  saw  wood 
as  no  other  wood-saw  Wood  saw  would 
saw  wood. 

In  fact,  of  all  the  wood-saws  Wood 
ever  saw  saw  wood  Wood  never  saw  a 
wood-saw  that  would  saw  wood  as  the 
wood-saw  Wood  saw  saw  wood  would 
saw  wood,  and  I  never  saw  a  wood-saw 
that  would  saw  as  the  wood-saw 
Wood  saw  would  saw  until  I  saw  Esaw 
Wood  saw  wood  with  the  wood-saw 
Wood  saw  saw  wood. 

Now  Wood  saws  wood  with  the 
wood-saw  Wood  saw  saw  wood. 

Oh,  the  wood  the  wood-saw  Wood 
saw  would  saw! 

Oh,  the  wood  Wood's  woodshed 
would  shed  when  Wood  would  saw 
wood  with  the  wood-saw  Wood  saw  saw 
wood! 

Finally,  no  man  may  ever  know  how 
much  wood  the  wood-saw  Wood  saw 
would  saw,  if  the  wood-saw  Wood  saw 
would  saw  all  the  wood  the  wood-saw 
Wood  saw  would  saw. 

W.  E.  SOUTHWICK. 

Well,  you  don't  have  to  read  it. 

THE  CUMMERBUND 
She  sate  upon  her  Dobie, 

To  watch  the  Evening  Star, 
And  all  the  Punkahs  as  they  passed, 

Cried,  "My !  how  fair  you  are !" 
Around    her    bower    with    quivering 
leaves, 


The  tall  Kamsahmahs  grew, 
And  Kitmutgars  in  wild  festoons 
Hung  down  from  Tchokis  blue. 

Below  her  home  the  river  rolled 

With  soft  meloobious  sound, 
Where  golden-finned  Chuprassis  swam 

In  myriads  circling  round. 
Above,  on  tallest  trees  remote 

Green  Ayahs  perched  alone, 
And  all  night  long  the  Mussak  moan'd 

Its  melancholy  tone. 

And  where  the  purple  Nullahs  threw 

Their  branches  far  and  wide, 
And  silvery  Goreewallahs  flew 

In  silence,  side  by  side. 
The  little  Bheesties'  twittering  cry 

Rose  on  the  flagrant  air, 
And  oft  the  angry  Jampan  howled 

Deep  in  his  hateful  lair. 

She  sate  upon  her  Dobie 

And  heard  the  Nimmak  hum, 
When  all  at  once  a  cry  arose, 

"The  Cummerbund  is  come!" 
In  vain  she  fled :  with  open  jaws 

The  angry  monster  followed, 
And  so  (before  assistance  came) 

The  Lady  Fair  was  swollowed. 

They  sought  in  vain  for  even  a  bone 

Respectfully  to  bury; 
They  said,  "Hers  was  a  dreadful  fate !" 

(And  Echo  answered,  "Very!") 
They  nailed  her  Dobie  to  the  wall, 

Where  last  her  form  was  seen, 
And  underneath  they  wrote  these  words 

In  yellow,  blue  and  green : 

"Beware,  ye  Fair!     Ye  Fair,  beware! 

Nor  sit  out  late  at  night, 
Lest  horrid  Cummerbunds  should  come 

And  swollow  you  outright." 

EDWARD  LEAK. 

What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so 
well  expressed. 


182 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


CUPID'S  DARTS 

(Which  are  a  growing  menace  to  the 
public) 

Do  not  worry  if  I  scurry  from  the  grill 

room  in  a  hurry, 

Dropping  hastily  my  curry  and  re- 
tiring into  balk ; 
Do  not  let  it  cause  you  wonder  if,  by 

some  mischance  or  blunder, 
We  encounter  on  the  Underground 
and  I  get  out  and  walk. 

If  I  double  as  a  cub'll  when  you  meet 

him  in  the  stubble, 
Do  not  think  I  am  in  trouble  or  at- 
tempt to  make  a  fuss ; 
Do  not  judge  me  melancholy  or  at- 
tribute it  to  folly 

If   I   leave    the    Metropolitan    and 
travel  'n  a  bus 

Do  not  quiet  your  anxiety  by  giving 

me  a  diet, 
Or  by  base  resort  to  vi  et  armis  fold 

me  to  your  arms, 
And  let  no  suspicious  tremor  violate 

your  wonted  phlegm  or 
Any  fear  that  Harold's  memory  is 
faithless  to  your  charms. 

For  my  passion  as  I  dash  on  in  that 

disconcerting  fashion 
Is  as  ardently  irrational  as  when  we 

forged  the  link 
When  you  gave  your  little  hand  away 

to  me,  my  own  Amanda 
An  we  sat  'n  the  veranda  till  the 
stars  began  to  wink. 

And  I  am  in  such  a  famine  when  your 

beauty  I  examine 
That  it  lures  me  as  the  jam  invites  a 

hungry  little  brat; 
But   I   fancy  that,   at  any   rate,   I'd 

rather  waste  a  penny 


Than  be  spitted  by  the  many  pins 
that  bristle  from  your  hat. 

PUNCH 

Pretty  clever  inter-rhyming. 


SOME  PSALM 

The  Ford  is  my  Car, 

I  shall  not  want  another. 

It  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  wet  places, 

It  soileth  my  soul, 

It  leadeth  me  into  deep  waters, 

It  leadeth  me  into  paths  of  ridicule  for 

its  name's  sake. 
It  prepareth  a  breakdown  for  me  in  the 

presence  of  mine  enemies. 
Yea,  though  I  run  through  the  valleys, 

I  am  towed  up  the  hill. 
I  fear  great  evil  when  it  is  with  me. 
Its  rods  and  its  engines  discomfort  me, 
It  anointeth  my  face  with  oil, 
Its  tank  runneth  over, 
Surely  to  goodness  if  this  thing  follow 

me  all  the  days  of  my  life,  I  shall 

dwell  in  the  house  of  the  insane  for 

ever. 

More    truth    than   poetry — but    not 
much  of  either. 


STATELY  VERSE 

If  Mary  goes  far  out  to  sea, 
By  wayward  breezes  fanned, 

I'd  like  to  know — can  you  tell  me  ? — 
Just  where  would  Maryland? 

If  Tenny  went  high  up  in  air 
And  looked  o'er  land  and  lea, 

Looked  here  and  there  and  every- 
where, 
Pray  what  would  Tennessee? 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


183 


I  looked  out  of  the  window  and 

Saw  Orry  on  the  lawn; 
He's  not  there  now,  and  who  can 
tell 

Just  where  has  Oregon? 

Two  girls  were  quarrelling  one  day 
With  garden  tools,  and  so 

I  said,  "My  dears,  let  Mary  rake 
And  just  let  Idaho." 

A  friend  of  mine  lived  in  a  flat 

With  half  a  dozen  boys ; 
When  he  fell  ill  I  asked  him  why. 

He  said:  "I'm  Illinois." 

An  English  lady  had  a  steed. 

She  called  him  'Ighland  Bay. 
She  rode  for  exercise,  and  thus 

Rhode  Island  every  day. 

Yes,  another  one's  coming. 

THUDS  FROM  THE  PADDED 
CELL 

How  much  did  Philadelphia  Pa? 

Whose  grass  did  K.  C.  Mo? 
How  many  eggs  could  New  Orleans 
La? 

How  much  does  Cleveland  0? 

What  was  it  made  Chicago  111? 

'Twas  Washington,  D.  C.? 
•She  would  Tacoma  Wash,  in  spite 

Of  a  Baltimore  Md. 

When  Hartford  and  New  Haven  Conn, 
What  reuben  do  they  soak? 

Could  Noah  build  a  Little  Rock  Ark 
If  he  had  no  Guthrie  Ok? 

We  call  Minneapolis  Minn. 

Why  not  Annapolis  Ann? 
If  you  can't  tell  the  reason  why, 

I'll  bet  Topeka  Kan. 


But  now  you  speak  of  ladies,  what 

A  Butte  Montana  is. 
If  I  could  borrow  Memphis'  Tenn. 

I'd  treat  that  Jackson  Miss. 

Would  Denver  Colo  cop  because 

Ottumwa  la  dore, 
And,  tho  my  Portland  Me  doth  love, 

I  threw  my  Portland  Ore? 

MAURICE  SMILEY. 

Here  it  is. 


WORSE  AND  MORE  OF  IT 

Owe !  wood  eye  wear  a  sailer  bowled 

To  sale  upon  the  mane. 
Where  the  blew  waives,  as  I  am  tolled, 

Beet  oar  the  rocs  in  vain. 
Hole  flox  of  see  muse  sore  on  hie, 

From  climb  to  climb  they  flee, 
And  low!  I  tare  my  hare,  for  I 

No  that's  the  plaice  for  me. 
I  mews  and  mourn,  I  waist  away 

With  size  upon  the  beech, 
Two  me  it's  plane,  though  grown  I 
may, 

Yon  bark's  beyond  my  reech. 
Susan  (we  call  her  Sioux)  she'll  make 

Me  mind  my  peas  and  cues ; 
Her   hart,   in   which   I   dwell,   would 
brake, 

Ware  I  butt  scene  to  crews. 
Says  she:  "What  ales  yew?    'Twere  a 
cell 

Upon  the  seize  to  Rome, 
A  boat,  too  pares  of  skulls  as  well. 

We'll  choose,  and  bye  when  home. 
The  weigh  I've  studded,  and  can  roe 

E'en  when  the  river's  crammed, 
Ore  from  the  boughs  I'll  watch  you  toe, 

And  wish  the  oshun  damned." 

Oh,  well,  turn  over  the  page,  then, 


184 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


1.  Did  Abram  S.  Hewitt?    Did  he 
use  an  axe? 

2.  In  your  aquatic  exercises  did  you 
ever  try  to  Roanoke? 

3.  Was  it  the  Sheriff  or  the  Senator 
who  wrote  the  poem,  beginning,  "Now 
I  Lamy  down  to  Sleep?" 

4.  Can  Frederick  A.  Vogt  without 
registering? 

5.  Is  it  indicative  of  an  abnormal 
appetite  to  try  to  get  a  job  on  the 
Gorge  Route? 

6.  How  much  water  does  it  take  to 
Philadelphia?    Who? 

7.  When  did  you  first  become  aware 
of  the  fact  that  Sydney,  New  South 
Wales?     Why  not? 

8.  The  Captain  said :  "There  is  a  list 
to  starboard."    Who  compiled  the  list? 

9.  Explain  in  one  word  what  hap- 
pened when  Robert  K.  Smither.     Did 
it  hurt? 

10.  Which  rivers  are  Seine?    Which 
insane  ?    When  ? 

11.  What  is  the  difference  between 
an  Alderney  and  a  Moscow? 

12.  Who     Painted     Post?       What 
colour  ? 

13.  What    did    the    Senator    Mark 
Hanna  for?    What  did  he  do  it  with? 
Did  she  want  to  be  marked? 

14.  We  read  in  the  Bible,  "I  heard 
the   voice    of   Harpers   harping   with 
their  harps."     Does  this  refer  to  the 
Weekly  or  the  Bazar? 

15.  "The  fossil  is  from  the  Tertiary 
age."     What  was  the  ante? 

16.  In  the  game  of  golf  does  the  tea 
caddy  stay  at  the  first  tee  or  does  he 
go  over  all  the  links? 

17.  What  sort  of  men  are  J.  A.  Fel- 
lows? 

18.  In  a  literary  review  we  read  "An 
entertaining   article    entitled    'Let   Us 
Have  Peace  in  Europe'  appears  in  the 
Atlantic  this  month."    In  view  of  this 


could  it  be  properly  said  that  the  At- 
lantic is  Pacific? 

19.  What  was    it    that     Pendleton 
Centre? 

20.  Whom     did     London     Punch? 
When?    What  for? 

21.  In  the  bicycling  news  appears 
this  headline:    "Bald  on  Top."    Does 
this  refer  to  a  loss  of  hair? 

22.  How  does  Long  Island  Sound? 
What  makes  it?    Was  this  what  Har- 
vey J.  Hurd? 

But  some  people  just  eat  up  this 
sort  of  thing. 

RURAL  BLISS 

The  poet  is,  or  ought  to  be,  a  hater  of 

the  city, 
And  so,  when  happiness  is  mine,  and 

Maud  becomes  my  wife, 
We'll  look  on  town  inhabitants  with 

sympathetic  pity, 

For  we  shall  lead  a  peaceful  and 
serene  Arcadian  life. 

Then  shall  I  sing  in  eloquent  and  most 

effective  phrases, 
The  grandeur  of  geraniums  and  the 

beauty  of  the  rose; 
Immortalise   in    deathless   strains   the 

buttercups  and  daisies — 
For  even  I  can  hardly  be  mistaken  as 
to  those. 

The  music  of  the  nightingale  will  ring 

from  leafy  hollow, 
And  fill  us  with  a  rapture  indescrib- 
able in  words; 
And  we  shall  also  listen  to  the  robin 

and  the  swallow 

(I  wonder  if  a  swallow  sings?)  and 
.  .  .  well,  the  other  birds. 

Too  long  I  dwelt  in  ignorance  of  all  the 
countless  treasures 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


185 


Which  dwellers  in  the  country  have 

in  such  abundant  store; 
To  give  a  single  instance  of  the  multi- 
tude of  pleasures — 

The  music   of  the  nighting — oh,   I 
mentioned  that  before. 

And  shall  I  prune  potato-trees  and  ar- 
tichokes, I  wonder, 
And  cultivate  the  silo-plant,  which 

springs  (I  hope  it  springs?) 
In  graceful  foliage  overhead? — Excuse 

me  if  I  blunder, 

It's  really  inconvenient  not  to  know 
the  name  of  things! 

No  matter;  in  the  future,  when  I  cele- 
brate the  beauty 
Of  country  life  in  glowing  terms, 

and  "build  the  lofty  rhyme" 
Aware  that  every  Englishman  is  bound 

to  do  his  duty, 

I'll  learn  to  give  the  stupid  things 
their  proper  names  in  time! 

Meanwhile,  you  needn't  wonder  at  the 

view  I've  indicated, 
The  country  life  appears  to  me  indu- 
bitably blest, 

For,  even  if  its  other  charms  are  some- 
what overstated, 

As  long  as  Maud  is  there,  you  see, — 
what  matters  all  the  rest? 

ANTHONY  C.  DEANE. 

Written  before  the  days  of  Nature 
Backing. 


A  CROSS  LADY 

Miss  Deidamia  Mizpah  Town 

Is  a  cross  lady; 
She  has  her  parlor  shades  drawn  tight 

And  keeps  her  kitchen  shady. 


No  streaks  of  sun,  no  pots  of  flowers, 

No  cat  or  kittens  tiny, 
But  such  a  brushed-up,  empty  look, 

All  black  and  cold  and  shiny. 

I  went  to  buy  some  eggs  of  her 
For  David's  birthday  party. 

I  said,  politely  as  I  could, 

"Your  roosters  keep  a-laying  good.1" 
She  said,  "Is  that  so,  smarty?" 

FLORENCE  WILKINSON. 

I  find  it  in  my  heart  to  frown  at 
Miss  Deidamia  Mizpah  Town. 


THE  WHICHNESS  OF  THE 
WHAT 

By  a  Lover  of  Art 

Thoughts  inspired  by  a  page  of  pic- 
tures in  the  first  issue  of  the  Saturday 
Magazine,  showing  some  of  the  Cubist 
and  Futurist  paintings  sent  here  from 
Europe  for  exhibition : 

Thou  yourself  him  fancy  was   ever- 
glades, 
Excepting      porphyry      inglewood 

spades 

Innocence  or  Dubuque ! 
Nomenclature  peruke; 
If  was, 

Gnome  fuzz 

Pardon   icebergs    desuetude   saucepan 
fades. 

Circumstantial  phonetic  Ishpahan 
Verisimilitude;  exotic  Sam 
Love's  cecillian 
Baking  pumphillian, 
Peers  knot, 

Nice  what 

Entre-nous  side-saddle  senator  am. 

J.  A.  A. 

Probably  the  best  of  its  sort.  And 
a  good  sort,  too. 


186 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


A  LITTLE  SWIRL  OF  VERS 
LIBRE 

(Not  covered,  strange  to  say,  by  the 
Penal  Code) 

I  am  numb  from  world-pain — 

I  sway  most  violently  as  the  thoughts 

course  through  me, 
And  athwart  me, 
And  up  and  down  me — 
Thoughts  of  cosmic  matters, 
Of   the    mergings    of    worlds    within 

worlds, 

And  unutterabilities 
And  room-rent, 

And  other  tremendously  alarming  phe- 
nomena, 

Which  stab  me, 
Rip  me  most  outrageously; 
(Without  a  semblance,  mind  you,  of 

respect  for  the  Hague  Convention's 

rules  governing  soul-slitting.) 
Aye,  as  with  the  poniard  of  the  Finite 

pricking  the  rainbow-bubble  of  the 

Infinite ! 

(Some  figure,  that!) 
(Some  little  rush  of  syllables,  that!) — 
And  make  me — (are  you  still  whirling 

at  my  coat-tails,  reader?) 
Make  me — ahem,  where  was  I? — oh, 

yes — make  me, 
In   a   sudden,   overwhelming  gust   of 

soul-shattering  rebellion, 
-Fall  flat  on  my  face! 

THOMAS  R.  YBARRA. 

Quite  as  good  as  the  preceding,  if 
not  better. 

WUS,  EVER  WUS 

Wus,  ever  wus !    By  freak  of  Puck's 
My  most  exciting  hopes  are  dashed; 

I  never  wore  my  spotless  ducks 
But      madly — wildly ! — they      were 
splashed. 


I  never  roved  by  Cynthia's  beam, 
To  gaze  upon  the  starry  sky, 

But  some  old  stiff-backed  beetle  came, 
And  charged  into  my  pensive  eye. 

And  oh !  I  never  did  the  swell 
In  Regent  Street,  amongst  the  beaux, 

But  smuts  the  most  prodigious  fell 
And  always  settled  on  my  nose ! 
H.  CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL. 

These  swagger  Britishers! 
THE  HAPPY  MAN 

La  Galisse  now  I  wish  to  touch; 

Droll  air!  if  I  can  strike  it, 
I'm  sure  the  song  will  please  you  much ; 

That  is,  if  you  should  like  it. 

La  Galisse  was,  indeed,  I  grant, 

Not  used  to  any  dainty, 
When  he  was  born ;  but  could  not  want 

As  long  as  he  had  plenty. 

Instructed  with  the  greatest  care, 

He  always  was  well  bred, 
And  never  used  a  hat  to  wear 

But  when  'twas  on  his  head. 

His  temper  was  exceeding  good, 
Just  of  his  father's  fashion; 

And  never  quarrels  broiled  his  blood 
Except  when  in  a  passion. 

His  mind  was  on  devotion  bent; 

He  kept  with  care  each  high  day, 
And  Holy  Thursday  always  spent 

The  day  before  Good  Friday. 

He  liked  good  claret  very  well, 
I  just  presume  to  think  it; 

For  ere  its  flavour  he  could  tell 
He  thought  it  best  to  drink  it. 

Than  doctors  more  he  loved  the  cook, 
Though  food  would  make  him  gross, 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


187 


And  never  any  physic  took 
But  when  he  took  a  dose. 

Oh,  happy,  happy  is  the  swain 

The  ladies  so  adore; 
For  many  followed  in  his  train 

Whene'er  he  walked  before. 

Bright  as  the  sun  his  flowing  hair 
In  golden  ringlets  shone; 

And  no  one  could  with  him  compare, 
If  he  had  been  alone. 

His  talents  I  cannot  rehearse, 

But  every  one  allows 
That  whatsoe'er  he  wrote  in  verse, 

No  one  could  call  it  prose. 

He  argued  with  precision  nice, 

The  learned  all  declare; 
And  it  was  his  decision  wise, 

No  horse  could  be  a  mare. 

His  powerful  logic  would  surprise, 
Amaze,  and  much  delight : 

He  proved  that  dimness  of  the  eyes 
Was  hurtful  to  the  sight. 

They  liked  him  much — so  it  appears 
Most  plainly — who  preferred  him ; 

And  those  did  never  want  their  ears 
Who  any  time  had  heard  him. 

He  was  not  always  right,  'tis  true, 
And  then  he  must  be  wrong; 

But  none  had  found  it  out,  he  knew, 
If  he  had  held  his  tongue. 

Whene'er  a  tender  tear  he  shed, 
'Twas  certain  that  he  wept; 

And  he  would  lie  awake  in  bed, 
Unless,  indeed,  he  slept. 

In  tilting  everybody  knew 

His  very  high  renown; 
Yet  no  o},Donents  he  o'erthrew 

But  those  that  he  knocked  down. 


At  last  they  smote  him  in  the  head, — 
What  hero  ever  fought  all? 

And  when  they  saw  that  he  was  dead, 
They  knew  the  wound  was  mortal. 

And  when  at  last  he  lost  his  breath, 

It  closed  his  every  strife; 
For  that  sad  day  that  sealed  his  death 

Deprived  him  of  his  life. 

GILLES  MENAGE. 

Queer,  how  many  great  minds  drift 
into  this  channel. 


THE  POPE 

The  Pope  he  leads  a  happy  life, 
He  fears  not  married  care  nor  strife. 
He  drinks  the  best  of  Rhenish  wine, — 
I  would  the  Pope's  gay  lot  were  mine. 

But  yet  all  happy's  not  his  life, 
He  has  no  maid,  nor  blooming  wife; 
No  child  has  he  to  raise  his  hope, — 
I  would  not  wish  to  be  the  Pope. 

The  Sultan  better  pleases  me, 

His  is  a  life  of  jollity; 

He's  wives  as  many  as  he  will, — 

I  would  the  Sultan's  throne  then  till. 

But  even  he's  a  wretched  man, 
He  must  obey  the  Alcoran; 
He  dare  not  drink  one  drop  of  wine— 
I  would  not  change  his  lot  for  mine. 

So  here  I'll  take  my  lowly  stand, 
I'll  drink  my  own,  my  native  land; 
I'll  kiss  my  maiden  fair  and  fine, 
And  drink  the  best  of  Rhenish  wine. 

And  when  my  maiden  kisses  me 
I'll  think  that  I  the  Sultan  be; 
And  when  my  cheery  glass  I  tope, 
I'll  fancy  then  I  am  the  Pope. 

CHARLES  LEVER. 

I  think  he  meant  to  be  funny. 


188  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


A  SYLVAN  SCENE 

The  moon,  a  reaper  of  the  ripened  stars, 

Held  out  her  silver  sickle  in  the  West; 
I  leaned  against  the  shadowy  pasture-bars, 

A  hermit,  with  a  burden  on  my  breast. 

The  lilies  leaned  beside  me  as  I  stood 
The  lilied  heifers  gleamed  beneath  the  shed; 

And  spirits  from  the  high  ancestral  wood, 
Cast  their  articulate  benisons  on  my  head. 

The  twilight  oriole  sang  her  valentine, 

From  pendulous  nest  above  the  stable  sill; 
And,  like  a  beggar,  asking  alms  and  wine, 

Came  the  importunate  murmur  of  the  mill. 

Love  threw  his  flying  shuttle  through  my  roof, 

And  made  the  web  a  pattern  I  abhorred; 
Wherefore,  alone  I  sang,  and  far  aloof, 

My  melting  melodies,  mightier  than  the  sword. 

The  white-sleeved  mowers,  coming  slowly  home, 
With  scythes  like  rainbows,  on  their  shoulders  hung, 

Sniffed  not,  in  passing  me,  the  scent  of  Rome, 
Nor  heard  the  music  trickling  from  my  tongue. 

The  milkmaid  following,  delayed  her  step, 

Still  singing,  as  she  left  the  stable  yard, 
'Twas  "Sheridan's  Ride,"  she  sang;  I  turned  and  wept, 

For  woman's  homage  soothes  the  suffering  bard. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


You  see,  you  don't  get  the  real  point  of  this,  until  you  know  (or  did  youf) 
that  it's  an  imitation  of  the  lovely  sylvan  lyrics  of  T.  B.  Read,  who,  incidentally, 
wrote  "Sheridan's  Ride." 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


189 


AIN'T  IT  AWFUL,  MABEL? 

It  worries  me  to  beat  the  band 
To  hear  folks  say  our  lives  is  grand; 
Wish  they'd  try  some  one-night  stand. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Nothin'  ever  seems  to  suit — 
The  manager's  an  awful  brute; 
Spend  our  lives  jest  lookin'  cute. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Met  a  boy  last  Tuesday  night, 
Was  spendin'  money  left  and  right — 
Me,  gee!  I  couldn't  eat  a  bite! 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Then  I  met  another  guy — 
Hungry!  well,  I  thought  I'd  die! 
But  I  couldn't  make  him  buy. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Lots  of  men  has  called  me  dear, 
Said  without  me  life  was  drear, 
But  men  is  all  so  unsincere! 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

I  tell  you,  life  is  mighty  hard, 
I've  had  proposals  by  the  yard — 
Some  of  'em  would  'a  had  me  starred. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Remember    that    sealskin    sacque    of 

mine? 

When  I  got  it,  look'd  awful  fine — 
I  found  out  it  was  a  shine. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Prima  donna's  sore  on  me; 
My  roses  had  her  up  a  tree — 
I  jest  told  her  to  "twenty-three." 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

My  dear,  she  went  right  out  and  wired 
The    New    York    office    to    have    me 
"fired"; 


But  say !  'twas  the  author  had  me  hired. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

I  think  hotels  is  awful  mean, 
Jim  and  me  put  out  of  room  sixteten— 
An'  we  was  only  readin'  Laura  Jean. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

The  way  folks  talk  about  us  too; 
For  the  smallest  thing  we  do — 
'Nuff  to  make  a  girl  feel  blue. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

My  Gawd!  is  that  the  overture? 
I  never  will  be  on,  I'm  sure — 
The  things  us  actresses  endure, 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

JOHN  EDWARD  HAZZABD. 

A  Human  Document. 


A  HOUSE  PET 

Let  me  advise  you,  child,  to  get 
A  pretty  cobra  for  a  pet. 

You'll  find  it  most  amusing; 
It  has  such  fetching  little  ways, 
Indulges  in  such  pretty  plays. 

Mostly  of  its  own  choosing. 

It  has  a  dainty,  graceful  hood, 
Of  texture  soft,  of  colour  good, 

And  seldom  needs  a  new  one; 
But  should  it  call  for  one  in  haste, 
Pray  use  your  most  exquisite  taste, 

And  get  a  pink  or  blue  one. 

Then,  when  you  go  to  take  a  ride, 
Let  cobra  sit  up  at  your  side, 

Just  like  a  near  relation. 
The  merry  passers-by  will  stare 
To  see  a  cobra  sitting  there, 

'Twill  cause  a  great  sensation  I 

Witty  touch,  that,  about  the  hood! 


190 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


MY  ANGELINE 

She  kept  her  secret  well,  oh,  yes, 

Her  hideous  secret  well. 
We  together  were  cast,  I  knew  not  her 
past; 

For  how  was  I  to  tell? 
I  married  her,  guileless  lamb  I  was; 

I'd  have  died  for  her  sweet  sake. 
How  could  I  have  known  that  my  An- 
geline 

Had  been  a  Human  Snake? 
Ah,  we  had  been  wed  but  a  week  or  two 

When  I  found  her  quite  a  wreck: 
Her  limbs  were  tied  in  a  double  bow- 
knot 

At  the  back  of  her  swan-like  neck. 
No  curse  there  sprang  to  my  pallid 
lips, 

Nor  did  I  reproach  her  then; 
I  calmly  untied  my  bonny  bride 

And  straightened  her  out  again. 

Befrain 

My  Angeline !    My  Angeline ! 
Why  didst  disturb  my  mind  serene? 
My  well-beloved  circus  queen, 
My  Human  Snake,  my  Angeline! 

At   night  I'd  wake  at  the  midnight 
hour, 

With  a  weird  and  haunted  feeling, 
And  there  she'd  be,  in  her  robe  de  nuit, 

A-walking  upon  the  ceiling. 
She  said  she  was  being  "the  human 

fly," 

And  she'd  lift  me  up  from  beneath 
By  a  section  slight  of  my  garb  of  night, 
Which  she  held  in  her  pearly  teeth. 
For  the  sweet,  sweet  sake  of  the  Hu- 
man Snake 

I'd  have  stood  this  conduct  shady; 
But  she  skipped  in  the  end  with  an  old, 

old  friend, 
An  eminent  bearded  lady. 


But,  oh,  at  night,  when  my  slumber's 

light, 

Regret  comes  o'er  me  stealing; 
For  I  miss  the  sound  of  those  little 

feet, 
As  they  pattered  along  the  ceiling. 

Befrain 

My  Angeline!     My  Angeline! 
Why  didst  disturb  my  mind  serene? 
My  well-beloved  circus  queen, 
My  Human  Snake,  my  Angeline! 
HARRY  B.  SMITH. 

Is     your     wife     entertaining     this 
winter? 
IBS,  very  I 

GHAT 

In  the  African  country  of  Ghat  the 
women  own  all  the  real  estate  and  tyran- 
nize over  the  men 

Think  how  dreadful  to  live  in  Ghat 
Where  you  can't  indulge  in  a  family 

spat 
Lest  your  wife  should  turn  you  out  of 

the  flat, 

In  Ghat. 

Where  man  is  only  a  poor,  mean  rat 
And  never  dares  to  go  out  on  a  bat, 
And  the  women  in  politics  all  stand 
pat, 

In  Ghat. 

If  you  were  a  man  would  you  stand  for 

that? 
Or  wouldn't  you  rather  pick  up  your 

hat 
And  without  any  leave-taking  quickly 

scat 

From  Ghat? 

Bitt  where  could  you  gof 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  191 


A  HISTORY  OF  CIVILISATION 

Oh,  Noodelywhang,  of  Niddelywhing, 

Was  king  of  a  naughty  nation, 
And  if  you'll  listen,  I'm  going  to  sing 

The  tale  of  his  civilisation. 
Both  he  and  his  people  were  black  as  sloes, 

For  the  zone  they  lived  in  was  torrid, 
And  their  principal  clothes  were  a  ring  through  the  nose 

And  a  patch  of  red  paint  on  the  forehead. 

Their  food  consisted  of  fruits  and  fish — 

Their  drink  was  the  limpid  rillet; 
Their  cookery  knew  but  a  single  dish, 

Which  was  barbecued  enemy's  fillet. 
And  each  man  might  take  to  him  wives  a  score — 

He  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  catch  'em; 
And  whenever  he  found  they  were  getting  a  bore, 

He  could  just  take  his  club  and  despatch  'em. 

They  worshipped  mere  stocks  and  misshapen  blocks — 

But  their  principal  idol  was  copper, 
And  history  states  that  like  fighting-cocks 

The  priests  all  lived — which  was  proper. 
But  into  the  bay  there  sailed  one  day, 

To  the  people's  consternation, 
The  very  first  ship  that  had  come  that  way — 

A  herald  of  civilisation. 

'Twas  the  good  ship  William  and  Jane,  of  Hull, 

And  was  bound  for  the  far  Canaries; 
But  the  captain  somehow  had  made  a  mull 

On  account  of  the  wind's  vagaries. 
He  stayed  a  fortnight  at  Niddelywhing, 

And  accepted  the  people's  caressings; 
Then  sailed,  but  vowed  to  come  back  and  bring 

Them  civilisation's  blessings. 

He  returned  to  Britain,  and  there  you'll  guess 

His  discovery  he  related, 
And  at  once  was  elected  F.R.G.S., 

And  a  mighty  sensation  created. 
But  he  shipped  him  trousers  and  crinolines, 

A  piano,  a  patent  dairy, 
Twenty  hogsheads  of  rum,  some  mustard  from  Keen's, 

And  also  a  missionary. 


192  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


And  back  he  sailed  to  Niddelywhing, 

And  reached  it  late  in  the  autumn, 
And  he  briefly  explained  to  the  chiefs  and  the  king 

The  various  blessings  he'd  brought  'em. 
And  on  shore  he  sent  the  reverend  gent, 
The  dairy,  the  rum,  the  piano, 

And  there  on  the  coast  he  set  up  a  post, 
Which  stated  in  Latin  that  thither  he  went 

In  (to  make  it  plain)  of  King  George's  reign 
The  vicesimo  something  anno. 

Then  the  sailors  made  love  to  the  monarch's  wives, 

Who  in  crinolines  soon  were  adorning, 
And  all  of  the  people  drank  rum  for  their  lives, 

And  had  headaches  every  morning. 
They  tried  the  mustard,  which  proved  too  strong, 

And  then  their  amusements  to  vary, 
They'd  daily  discourses  some  six  hours  long 

From  that  eloquent  missionary. 

For  a  month  they  went  on  with  this  sort  of  thing 

In  that  distant  climate  torrid, 
Till  Noodelywhang,  of  Niddelywhing, 

Felt  existence  was  growing  horrid. 
And  finding  his  subjects  had  also  become 

Quite  tired  of  this  new  vagary, 
He  seized  one  day  on  six  puncheons  of  rum 

And  the  reverend  missionary. 

From  what  we  can  gather  'twas  his  intent 

To  empty  those  purloined  puncheons, 
And  he  clearly  meant  that  reverend  gent 

For  breakfasts  and  dinners  and  luncheons. 

But  before  they  began  to  cook  their  man, 

They  partook  of  their  rum  so  freely, 
That  the  national  progress  soon  began 

To  be  very  unsteady  and  reelly. 
Then  the  captain  landed  his  gallant  crew, 

And  slaughtered  the  whole  of  the  nation: 
Which  it  seems  was  his  view  of  what  you  should  do 

For  the  spread  of  civilisation. 

THOMAS  HOOD  THE  YOUNGER. 


Another  of  those  good  ships  that  sailed,  as  they  sailed. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


193 


THE  SICK  KNIGHT 

Reach  me  the  helmet  from  yonder  rack, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  with  its  plume  of  white; 
Now  help  me  upon  my  destrier's  back, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  though  he  swerve  in  fright. 
And  guide  my  foot  to  the  stirrup  ledge, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  it  eludes  me  still. 
Then  fill  me  a  cup  as  a  farewell  pledge, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  for  the  night  air's  chill! 
Haste !  with  the  buckler  and  pennon'd  lance, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  or  ever  I  feel 
My  war-horse  plunge  in  impatient  prance, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  at  the  prick  of  heel. 
Pay  scant  heed  to  my  pallid  hue, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  for  the  wan  moon's  sheen 
Would  change  the  ruddiest  cheek  to  blue, 

Mistress  o'  mine!  or  glamour  it  green. 
One  last  long  kiss,  ere  I  seek  the  fray  .  .  . 

Mistress  o'  mine!  though  I  quit  my  cell, 
I  would  meet  the  foe  in  the  mad  melee. 

Mistress  o'  mine!  an'  I  were  but  well  I 


Slacker! 


F.  ANSTEY. 


A  PLEA  FOR  TRIGAMY 

I've  been  trying  to  fashion  a  wifely 

ideal, 
And  find  that  my  tastes  are  so  far 

from  concise 

That,  to  marry  completely,  no  fewer 
than  three'll 

Suffice. 

I've  subjected  my  views  to  severe  at- 
mospheric 
Compression,  but  still,  in  defiance  of 

force, 

They  distinctly  fall  under  three  heads, 
like  a  cleric 

Discourse. 

My  first  must  be  fashion's  own  fancy- 
bred  daughter, 

Proud,    peerless,    and    perfect — in 
fact,  comme  il  faut; 


A  waltzer  and  wit  of  the  very  first 
water — 

For  show. 

But  these  beauties  that  serve  to  make 

all  the  men  jealous, 
Once  face  them  alone  in  the  family 

cot, 

Heaven's  angels  incarnate  (the  novel- 
ists tell  us) 

They're  not. 

But  so  much  for  appearances.     Now 

for  my  second, 
My  lover,  the  wife  of  my  home  and 

my  heart: 

Of  all  fortune  and  fate  of  my  life  to  be 
reckon'd 

A  part. 

She  must  know  all  the  needs  of  a  ra- 
tional being, 

Be  skilled  to  keep  counsel,  to  com- 
fort, to  coax ; 


194 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


And,  above  all  things  else,  be  accom- 
plished at  seeing 

My  jokes. 

I  complete  the  menage  by  including 

one  other 
With  all  the  domestic  prestige  of  a 

hen: 

As  my  housekeeper,  nurse,  or  it  may 
be,  a  mother 

Of  men. 

Total  three  I  and  the  virtues  all  well 

represented ; 
With  fewer  than  this  such  a  thing 

can't  be  done: 

Though  I've  known  married  men  who 
declare  they're  contented 
With  one. 

Would  you  hunt  during  harvest,   or 

hay-make  in  winter? 
And  how  can  one  woman  expect  to 

combine 

Certain  qualifications  essentially  inter- 
necine ? 

You  may  say  that  my  prospects  are 

(legally)   sunless; 
I  state  that  I  find  them  as  clear  as 

can  be: — 

I  will  marry  no  wife,  since  I  can't  do 
with  one  less 

Than  three. 

OWEN  SEAMAN. 
Skilled  labour. 

THE  RIVAL  MILLENNIUM 

When  the  'lectric-light  bulbs  bloom 

And  the  early  eggplants  lay, 
When  the  weather  counts  its  change 

And  gets  settled  down  to  stay, 
When  the  chickens  wear  their  "shoos" 
And  the  pigs  wipe  all  their  pens, 
I'll  move  out  in  the  country  on  a  farm ! 
When  the  wagons  take  their  tongues  in 
And  the  cherries  throw  no  stones, 


When  the  butter  flises  churn 

And  the  corn-ears  tend  the  'phones, 
When  the  ants  do  all  the  mending 
And  the  beeses  wax  the  floors, 
Then  I'll  move  out  in  the  country  on  a 
farm! 

A.  C.  FITCH. 

I  sha'n't  go  until  then,  either. 

THE  EDUCATED  LOVE  BIRD 
Not  translated  from  the   Italian 

I  teach-a  da  bird  an'  I  blow-a  da  ring, 
An'  'e  fly  into  eet  an'  'e  roost  an'  'e 

sing! 

An'  when-a  da  ring  'eet  is  not-a  in  sight 
Da  bird  'e  just  spread-a  'ees  wing  an' 

make  flight. 

PETER  NEWELL. 

POST-IMPRESSIONIST  POEM 

While  still  I  sported  knee-length  pants 
My  people  taught  me  that  'twas  rude 

To  even  steal  a  sidelong  glance 
At  casts  or  paintings  of  the  nude. 

Then  Futurist  and  Cubist  came, 
And  Futurised  the  nude,  till  now 

No  longer  need  the  blush  of  shame 
Mount   up   and   mantle   Comstock's 
brow. 

And  hence  it  comes  that  purest  prudes 
In  chaste  Cohoes,  austere  Oswego, 

Need  have  no  fear;  for  Cubist  nudes 
Strip    but    the   Artist's    hard-boiled 
Ego. 

Do  you  not  see  how  beautiful  that 
is?  It  is  very  beautiful.  Very  beauti- 
ful indeed.  But  not  as  beautiful  as  it 
can  be  beautiful.  For  the  most  beauti- 
ful that  is  beautiful  is  not  the  Post-Im- 
pressionist beautiful,  but  the  Cubist 
beautiful.  Now,  let  us  treat  the  poem 
a  little  differently: 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  195 


***•-* 


X 


Futurised  the  node,  till  now  o 


4> 


/*    ****«,.  .  *V  ....«.«—? 

isC*  V«  e    Jf*  ^ffew 


^^  o    o 

**  *t  dsttt» 

o  /tyj.  v  paaa.ods   i   HT^s   attxt/fc 


prudes  W30J  ISI8HO 


It  may  be  that  you  are  not  far 
enough  along  to  appreciate  my  Cu- 
bistry.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  have  to 
struggle  on  for  years  and  years  be- 
fore I  am  appreciated.  But  if  you 
feel  disposed  to  scoff,  let  me  remind 
you,  even  as  they  reminded  me,  when  I 
scoffed,  of  Galileo,  Columbus,  Richard 
Wagner,  Monet,  and  Cezanne.  All  of 
them  were  called  demented  in  their 
time,  just  as  we  Cubists  are  to-day. 

JULIAN  STREET. 


Considering  the  trend  of  his  poem,  can  we  call  this  author  the  Street  called 
Straight? 


196 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  HUMPTY 
DUMPTY 

'Tis    midnight,    and    the    moonbeam 
sleeps 

Upon  the  garden  sward; 
My  lady  in  yon  turret  keeps 

Her  tearful  watch  and  ward. 
"Beshrew  me!"  mutters,  turning  pale, 

The  stalwart  seneschal; 
"What's  he,  that  sitteth,  clad  in  mail 

Upon  our  castle  wall?" 

"Arouse  thee,  friar  of  orders  grey; 

What  ho!  bring  book  and  bell! 
Ban  yonder  ghastly  thing,  I  say; 

And,  look  ye,  ban  it  well! 
By  cock  and  pye,  the  Humpty's  face !" 

The  form  turned  quickly  round; 

Then  totter'd  from  its  resting-place — 

***** 

That  night  the  corse  was  found. 

The  king,  with  hosts  of  fighting  men 

Rode  forth  at  break  of  day ; 
Ah!  never  gleamed  the  sun  till  then 

On  such  a  proud  array. 
But  all  that  army,  horse  and  foot, 

Attempted,  quite  in  vain, 
Upon  the  castle  wall  to  put 

The  Humpty  up  again. 

HENRY  S.  LEIGH. 

One  of  the  finest. 

/ 

TO  MARY 

Well!  thou  art  happy,  and  I  say 
That  I  should  thus  be  happy  too; 

For  still  I  hate  to  go  away 
As  badly  as  I  used  to  do. 

Thy  husband's  blest, — and  'twill  impart 
Some  pangs  to  view  his  happier  lot; 

But  let  them  pass, — 0,  how  my  heart 
Would  hate  him  if  he  clothed  thee 
not. 


When  late  I  saw  thy  favourite  child, 
I  thought,  like  Dutchmen,  "I'd  go 

dead," 

But  when  I  saw  its  breakfast  piled, 
I  thought  how  much  'twould  take  for 
bread. 


I  saw  it,  and  repressed  my  groans 
Its  father  in  its  face  to  see, 

Because  I  knew  my  scanty  funds 
Were  scarce  enough  for  you  and  me. 


Mary,  adieu !    I  must  away ; 

While  thou  art  blest,  to  grieve  were 

sin, 
But  near  thee  I  can  never  stay, 

Because  I'd  get  in  love  again. 

I   deemed  that   time,   I  deemed  that 
pride, 

My  boyish  feeling  had  subdued, 
Nor  knew,  till  seated  by  thy  side, 

I'd  try  to  get  you,  if  I  could. 

Yet  I  was  calm:  I  recollect 

My    hand    had    once   sought    yours 

again, 
But  now  your  husband  might  object, 

And  so  I  kept  it  on  my  cane. 

I  saw  thee  gaze  upon  my  face, 
Yet  meet  with  neither  woe  nor  scoff; 

One  only  feeling  couldst  thou  trace, 
A  disposition  to  be  off. 

Away!  away,  my  early  dream, 
Remembrance  never  must  awake; 

O,  where  is  Mississippi's  stream? 
My  foolish  heart,  be  still,  or  break! 
PHEBE  CART. 

Marvellous  self-control. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  197 


A  SYMPOSIUM  OF  POETS 


Once  upon  a  time  a  few  of  the  greatest  Poets  of  all  ages  gathered  together 
for  the  purpose  of  discussing  the  merits  of  the  Classic  Poem : 

Peter,  Peter,  Pumpkin  Eater, 
Had  a  wife  and  couldn't  keep  her 
Put  her  in  a  Pumpkin  shell, 
And  there  he  kept  her  very  well. 


In  many  ways  this  historic  narrative  called  forth  admiration.  One  must  ad- 
mit Peter's  great  strength  of  character,  his  power  of  quick  decision,  and  immedi- 
ate achievement.  Some  hold  that  his  inability  to  retain  the  lady's  affection  in 
the  first  place,  argues  a  defect  in  his  nature;  but  remembering  the  lady's  youth 
and  beauty  (implied  by  the  spirit  of  the  whole  poem),  we  can  only  reiterate 
our  appreciation  of  the  way  he  conquered  circumstances,  and  proved  himself 
master  of  his  fate,  and  captain  of  his  soul!  Truly,  the  Pumpkin-Eaters  must 
have  been  a  forceful  race,  able  to  defend  their  rights  and  rule  their  people. 

The  Poets  at  their  symposium  unanimously  felt  that  the  style  of  the  poem, 
though  hardly  to  be  called  crude,  was  a  little  bare,  and  they  took  up  with 
pleasure  the  somewhat  arduous  task  of  rewriting  it. 

Mr.  Ed.  Poe  opined  that  there  was  lack  of  atmosphere,  and  that  the  fads 
of  the  narrative  called  for  a  more  impressive  setting.  He  therefore  offered: 


The  skies,  they  were  ashen   and  sober, 
The  lady  was  shivering  with  fear; 
Her  shoulders  were  shud'ring  with  fear. 

On  a  dark  night  in  dismal  October, 
Of  his  most  Matrimonial  Year. 
Jt  was  hard  by  the  cornfield  of  Auber, 
In  the  musty  Mud  Meadows  of  Weir, 

Down  by  the  dank  frog-pond  of  Auber, 
In  the  ghoul-haunted  cornfield  of  Weir. 


Now,  his  wife  had  a  temper  Satanic, 

And  when  Peter  roamed  here  with  his  Soul, 
Through  the  corn  with  his  conjugal  Soul, 

He  spied  a  huge  pumpkin  Titanic, 
And  he  popped  her  right  in  through  a  hole. 
Then  solemnly  sealed  up  the  hole. 


198  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


And  thus  Peter  Peter  has  kept  her 

Immured  in  Mausoleum  gloom, 

A  moist,  humid,  damp  sort  of  gloom. 
And  though  there's  no  doubt  he  bewept  her, 

She  is  still  in  her  yellow  hued  tomb, 

Her  unhallowed,  Hallowe'en  tomb 
And  ever  since  Peter  side-stepped  her, 

He  calls  her  his  lost  Lulalume, 

His  Pumpkin-entombed  Lulalume. 

This  was  received  with  acclaim,  but  many  objected  to  the  mortuary  theory. 

Mrs.  Robert  Browning  was  sure  that  Peter's  love  for  his  wife,  though  perhaps 
that  of  a  primitive  man,  was  of  the  true  Portuguese  stamp,  and  with  this  view 
composed  the  following  pleasing  Sonnet: 

How  do  I  keep  thee?    Let  me  count  the  ways. 

I  bar  up  every  breadth  and  depth  and  height 

My  hands  can  reach,  while  feeling  out  of  sight 

For  bolts  that  stick  and  hasps  that  will  not  raise. 

I  keep  thee  from  the  public's  idle  gaze, 

I  keep  thee  in,  by  sun  or  candle  light. 

I  keep  thee,  rude,  as  women  strive  for  Right. 

I  keep  thee  boldly,  as  they  seek  for  praise, 

I  keep  thee  with  more  effort  than  I'd  use 

To  keep  a  dry-goods  shop  or  big  hotel. 

I  keep  thee  with  a  power  I  seemed  to  lose 

With  that  last  cook.    I'll  keep  thee  down  the  well, 

Or  up  the  chimney-place!     Or  if  I  choose, 

I  shall  but  keep  thee  in  a  Pumpkin  shell. 

This  was  of  course  meritorious,  though  somewhat  suggestive  of  the  cave-men, 
who,  we  have  never  been  told,  were  Pumpkin  Eaters. 

Austin  Dobson's  version  was  really  more  ladylike: 
BALLADE  OF  A  PUMPKIN 

Golden-skinned,  delicate,  bright, 

Wondrous  of  texture  and  hue, 
Bathed  in  a  soft,  sunny  light, 

Pearled  with  a  silvery  dew. 

Fair  as  a  flower  to  the  view, 
Ripened  by  summer's  soft  heat, 

Basking  beneath  Heaven's  blue, — 
This  is  the  Pumpkin  of  Pete. 


SO   HER   INTO   PRISON    HE   THREW — THIS   IS   THE   PUMPKIN   OF   PETE 


Smug  Peter, — gazing  at  the  prison 
In  which,  he  locked  that  urife  of  his'n. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  199 


Peter  consumed  day  and  night, 

Pumpkin  in  pie  or  in  stew; 
Hinted  to  Cook  that  she  might 

Can  it  for  winter  use,  too. 

Pumpkin  croquettes,  not  a  few, 
Peter  would  happily  eat; 

Knowing  content  would  ensue, — 
This  is  the  Pumpkin  of  Pete. 

Everything  went  along  right, 

Just  as  all  things  ought  to  do; 
Till  Peter, — unfortunate  wight, — 

Married  a  girl  that  he  knew, 

Each  day  he  had  to  pursue 
His  runaway  Bride  down  the  street,— 

So  her  into  prison  he  threw, — 
This  is  the  Pumpkin  of  Pete. 

L'ENVOI 

Lady,  a  sad  lot,  'tis  true, 

Staying  your  wandering  feet  j 
But  'tis  the  best  place  for  you, — 

This  is  the  Pumpkin  of  Pete. 

Like  the  other  women  present  Dinah  Craik  felt  the  pathos  of  the  situation, 
and  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  in  this  tender  burst  of  song : 

Could  I  come  back  to  you  Peter,  Peter, 

From  this  old  pumpkin  that  I  hate; 
I  would  be  so  tender,  so  loving,  Peter, — 

Peter,  Peter,  gracious  and  great. 

You  were  not  half  worthy  of  me,  Peter, 

Not  half  worthy  the  like  of  I; 
Now  all  men  beside  are  not  in  it,  Peter, — 

Peter,  Peter,  I  feel  like  a  pie. 

Stretch  out  your  hand  to  me,  Peter,  Peter, 

Let  me  out  of  this  Pumpkin,  do; 
Peter,  my  beautiful  Pumpkin  Eater, 

Peter,  Peter,  tender  and  true. 

Mr.  Hogg  took  his  own  graceful  view  of  the  matter,  thus : 

Lady  of  wandering, 
Blithesome,  meandering, 
Sweet  was  thy  flitting  o'er  moorland  and  lea; 


200  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Emblem  of  restlessness, 
Blest  be  thy  dwelling  place, 
Oh,  to  abide  in  the  Pumpkin  with  thee. 

Peter,  though  bland  and  good, 

Never  thee  understood, 
Or  he  had  known  how  thy  nature  was  free; 

Goddess  of  fickleness, 

Blest  be  thy  dwelling  place, 
Oh,  to  abide  in  the  Pumpkin  with  thee. 

Mr.  Kipling  grasped  at  the  occasion  for  a  ballad  in  his  best  vein.  The  plot 
of  the  story  aroused  his  old  time  enthusiasm,  and  he  transplanted  the  pumpkin 
eater  and  his  wife  to  the  scenes  of  his  earlier  powers : 

In  a  great  big  Mammoth  pumpkin 

Lookin'  eastward  to  the  sea, 
There's  a  wife  of  mine  a-settin' 
And  I  know  she's  mad  at  me. 
For  I  hear  her  calling,  "Peter !" 

With  a  wild  hysteric  shout; 
"Come  you  back,  you  Punkin  Eater, — 
Come  you  back  and  let  me  out!" 
For  she's  in  a  punkin  shell, 
I  have  locked  her  in  her  cell; 

But  it  really  is  a  comfy,  well-constructed  punkin  shell; 
And  there  she'll  have  to  dwell, 
For  she  didn't  treat  me  well, 
So  I  put  her  in  the  punkin  and  I've  kept  her  very  well. 

Algernon  Swinburne  was  also  in  one  of  his  early  moods,  and  as  a  result  he 
Wove  the  story  into  this  exquisite  fabric  of  words : 

IN  THE  PUMPKIN 

Leave  go  my  hands.    Let  me  catch  breath  and  see, 
What  is  this  confine  either  side  of  me? 

Green  pumpkin  vines  about  me  coil  and  crawl, 
Seen  sidelong,  like  a  'possum  in  a  tree, — 

Ah  me,  ah  me,  that  pumpkins  are  so  small! 

Oh,  my  fair  love,  I  charge  thee,  let  me  out; 
From  this  gold  lush  encircling  me  about; 

I  turn  and  only  meet  a  pumpkin  wall. 
The  crescent  moon  shines  slim, — but  I  am  stout, — 

Ah  me,  ah  me,  that  pumpkins  are  so  small ! 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  .  201 


Pumpkin  seeds  like  cold  sea  blooms  bring  me  dreams; 
Ah,  Pete, — too  sweet  to  me, — my  Pete,  it  seems 

Love  like  a  Pumpkin  holds  me  in  its  thrall; 
And  overhead  a  writhen  shadow  gleams, — 

Ah  me,  ah  me,  that  pumpkins  are  so  small ! 

This  intense  poesy  thrilled  the  heavens,  and  it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  to 
their  throbbing  souls  that  they  listened  to  Mr.  Bret  Harte's  contribution: 

Which  I  wish  to  remark, 

That  the  lady  was  plain; 
And  for  ways  that  are  dark 

And  for  tricks  that  are  vain, 
She  had  predilections  peculiar, 

And  drove  Peter  nearly  insane. 

Far  off,  anywhere, 

She  wandered  each  day; 
And  though  Peter  would  swear, 

The  lady  would  stray; 
And  whenever  he  thought  he  had  got  her, 

She  was  sure  to  be  rambling  away. 

Said  Peter,  "My  Wife, 

Hereafter  you  dwell 
For  the  rest  of  your  life 

In  a  big  Pumpkin  Shell." 
He  popped  her  in  one  that  was  handy, 

And  since  then  he's  kept  her  quite  well. 

Which  is  why  I  remark, 

Though  the  lady  was  plain, 
For  ways  that  are  dark 

And  tricks  that  are  vain, 
A  husband  is  very  peculiar, 

And  the  same  I  am  free  to  maintain. 

Oscar  Wilde  in  a  poetic  fervour  and  a  lily-like  kimono,  recited  with  tremu- 
lous intensity  this  masterpiece  of  his  own: 

Oh,  Peter !  Pumpkin-fed  and  proud, 

Ah  me!  ah  me! 

(Sweet  squashes,  mother!) 
Thy  woe  knells  like  a  stricken  cloud; 
(Ah  me;  ah  me! 

Hurroo,  Hurree!) 


202 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Lo!  vanisht  like  an  anguisht  wraith; 

Ah  me!  ah  me! 

(Sweet  squashes,  mother!) 
Wan  hope  a  dolorous  Musing  saith; 
(Ah  me ;  ah  me ! 

Dum  diddle  dee!) 

Hist !  dare  we  soar?    The  Pumpkin  shell 

Ah  me!  ah  me! 

(Sweet  squashes,  mother!) 
Fast  and  forever!    Sooth,  'tis  well. 
(Ah  me;  ah  me! 

Faloodle  dee!) 

There  was  little  to  be  said  after  this,  so  the  meeting  closed  with  a  solo  by 
Lady  Arthur  Hill,  sung  with  a  truly  touching  touch : 

In  the  pumpkin,  oh,  my  darling, 

Think  not  bitterly  of  me; 
Though  I  went  away  in  silence, 

Though  I  couldn't  set  you  free. 
For  my  heart  was  filled  with  longing, 

For  another  piece  of  pie; 
It  was  best  to  leave  you  there,  dear, 

Best  for  you  and  best  for  I. 


CAROLYN  WELLS. 


Given  a  worthy  theme,  see  how  the  Poets  blossom  out! 
THE  CONJUROR 


When  I  am  a  man  and  can  do  as  I  wish, 
With  no  one  to  ask  if  I  may, 

Although  I'll  play  cricket  a  little  and 

fish, 
I'll  conjure  the  most  of  each  day. 

The   conjuror's   life  is   so   easy   and 

grand; 

He  makes  such  superior  jokes — 
0,  it's  splendid  to  stand  with  a  wand 

in  your  hand, 
And  puzzle  relations  and  folks. 

If  eggs  should  be  wanted,  you  turn  to 
a  friend, 


And  draw  two   or  three  from   his 

hair; 
If  a  rabbit  is  wished,  and  his  hat  he 

will  lend, 
You  wave,  and  behold,  one  is  there! 

To  pound  a  gold  watch  into  thousands 

of  bits 

And  restore  it  as  good  as  before 
Is  a  life  that  beats  even  a  Major's  to 

fits,— 

Apart  from  the  absence  of  gore. 
ANONYMOUS. 

But,  of  course,  one  can't  have  every- 
thing. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


203 


THE  SEMPSTRESS 

The  Sempstress  sewed  upon  a  seam 
And  in  her  eye  there  was  no  Gleam 
Of  Hope  or  Joy — nor  Nothin'  Wuss, 
She  was  just  plain  Loogoobrious. 


204 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE  PRACTICAL  JOKER 

Oh,  what  a  fond  of  joy  jocund  lies  hid 
in  harmless  hoaxes! 

What   keen  enjoyment  springs 
From  cheap  and  simple  things ! 
What  deep  delight  from  sources  trite 
inventive  humour  coaxes, 
That  pain  and  trouble  brew 
For  every  one  but  you ! 

Gunpowder  placed  inside  its  waist  im- 
proves a  mild  Havana, 
Its  unexpected  flash 
Burns  eyebrows  and  moustache. 

When  people  dine  no  kind  of  wine 
beats  ipecacuanha, 

But  common  sense  suggests 
You  keep  it  for  your  guests — 

Then  naught  annoys  the  organ  boys 
tike  throwing  red  hot  coppers. 

And  much  amusement  bides 
In  common  butter  slides; 

And  stringy  snares  across  the  stairs 
unexpected  croppers. 


Coal  scuttles,  recollect, 
Produce  the  same  effect. 

A  man  possessed 

Of  common  sense 
Need  not  invest 

At  great  expense — 

It  does  not  call 

For  pocket  deep, 
These  jokes  are  all 

Extremely  cheap. 

If  yon  commence  with  eighteenpence 
— it's  all  youTl  have  to  pay; 

Yon  may  command  a  pleasant  and  a 
most  instructive  day. 


A  good  spring  gun  breeds  endless  fun, 
and  makes  men  jump  like  rock- 
ets— 

And  turnip  heads  on  posts 
Make  very  decent  ghosts. 

Then  hornets  sting  like  anything,  when 
placed  in  waistcoat  pockets — 

Burnt  cork  and  walnut  juice 
Are  not  without  their  use. 

No    fun    compares   with    easy   chairs 
whose   seats   are   stuffed   with   nee- 
dles- 
Live  shrimps  their  patience  tax 
When  put  down  people's  backs. 

Surprising,  too,  what  one  can  do  with 
a  pint  of  fat  black  beetles — 

And  treacle  on  a  chair 
Will  make  a  Quaker  swear! 

Then  sharp  tin  tacks 

And  pocket  squirts — 
And  cobbler's  wax 

For  ladies'  skirts — 

And  slimy  slugs 

On  bedroom  floors — 
And  water  jugs 

On  open  doors — 

Prepared  with  these  cheap  properties, 

amusing  tricks  to  play 
Upon  a  friend  a  man  may  spend  a 

most  delightful  day. 

W.  S.  GILBERT. 

And  to  think  Sullivan  could  set  this 
or  hymns  to  music  equally  well! 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


205 


YE  TOWNE  GOSSIP 

I'D  JUST  sat  down. 

*  *     * 

TO  WRITE  something. 

*  *     • 

FOR  TUESDAY'S  paper. 

*  *    * 

AND  HAD  lighted  a  cigarette. 

*  »     • 

THAT  HAD  been  sent  me. 

*  *    • 

BECAUSE     I'D     mentioned     Dobbs 
Ferry.  •     •     • 

IN  MY  COLUMN. 

»     »    • 

AND  I  had  an  idea. 

*  *     • 

TO  WORK  on. 

*  •     * 

AND  I  was  quite  sure. 

*  •     » 

IT  WAS  going  to  be  good. 

*  *     * 

AND  THE  telephone  rang. 

*  *     • 

AND  I  answered  it. 

*  *     * 

AND  A  voice  said : 

*  *    * 

"THIS  IS  Jim. 

*  *     * 

"AND  IT'S  a  girl. 

*  •     * 

"AND  IT  weighs  six  pounds. 

*  *     * 

"AND  EVERYBODY'S  fine. 

*  *     * 

"I'M  DOWNSTAIRS. 

*  *     * 

"AND  I'M  coming  up." 

*  *     * 

AND  HE  did. 

»    •     * 

AND  HE'S  here  now. 

*  •    * 


AND  HE  isn't  shaved. 

*  •     * 

AND  HE'S  sleepy. 

*  •    • 

AND  HE  looks  to  me. 

*  •     * 

LIKE  HE'D  been  up  all  night. 

*  *     * 

AND  HE'S  worried. 

*  *     * 

FOR  FEAR  they'll  mix  it  up. 

*  *    • 

AT  THE  hospital. 

*  *    * 

HE  SAW  a  lot  of  them. 

*  *     • 

IN  A  little  room. 

«    *     * 

AND  HE'S  waiting  for  me. 

*  *     * 

TO  GET  through. 

*  *     • 

AND  GO  up  to  the  hospital. 

*  *     * 

AND  SEE  it. 

*  •    • 

AND  HE'S  just  asked  me. 

*  *    * 

IF  I  have  an  indelible  pencil. 

*  *    * 

I  THINK  he's  going  to  mark  it. 

*  •     • 

OR  SOMETHING. 

*  *    • 

AND,  ANYWAY 

*  *    * 

WHATEVER  IT  was. 

*  *    • 

I  WAS  going  to  write. 

*  •     • 

I'VE  FORGOTTEN. 

*  •    • 

AND  I'VE  tried  to  tell  him. 

*  •     • 

IF  HE  keeps  on  talking. 


206 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


I'LL  NEVER  get  through. 

THE  TRANSLATED  WAY 

*    *     * 

AND  HE'S  quiet  now. 

Being   a   lyric   translation  of   Heine's 
"Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume,"  as  it  is  usually 

,                             * 

done 

AND  HE'S  gone  to  sleep. 

*    *     * 

Thou  art  like  unto  a  Flower, 

IN  A  big  chair. 

So  pure  and  clean  thou  art; 

*    *    * 

I  view  thee  and  much  sadness 

AND  I'VE  thrown  away. 

Steals  to  me  in  the  heart. 

*     *    * 

MY  CIGARETTE. 

To  me  it  seems  my  Hands  I 

*     »    * 

Should  now  impose  on  your 

AND  I'VE  lighted  my  pipe. 

Head,  praying  God  to  keep  you 

*    *    * 

So  fine  and  clean  and  pure. 

AND  WATCHED  the  smoke. 

FRANKLIN  P.  ADAMS. 

*    *    * 

AS  IT  curls  its  way. 
*    *    * 

This  translator  seems  to  have  caught 
the  very  essence  of  the  spirit  of  the 

THROUGH  A  window  top. 

author's  thought. 

•    *    * 

AND  WHEREVER  it  goes. 

*    *    * 

THE  NAUGHTY  DARKEY  BOY 

IT'S  TAKING  a  prayer. 

There  was  a  cruel  darkey  boy, 

•    *    * 

Who  sat  upon  the  shore, 

FOR  HER. 

A  catching  little  fishes  by 

*    *    » 

The  dozen  and  the  score. 

AND  FOR  JIM. 

*    *    * 

And  as  they  squirmed  and  wriggled 

AND  THE  baby  girl. 

there, 

*    *    * 

He  shouted  loud  with  glee, 

AND  JIM. 

"You  surely  cannot  want  to  live, 

*    »    » 

You're  little-er  dan  me." 

IF  HE  dreams. 

*    »    * 

Just  then  with  a  malicious  leer, 

AS  HE  sleeps. 

And  a  capacious  smile, 

*    *    * 

Before  him  from  the  water  deep 

IN  MY  chair. 

There  rose  a  crocodile. 

»    *    * 

HAS  A  new  dreamland. 

He  eyed  the  little  darkey  boy, 

»     *     * 

Then  heaved  a  blubbering  sigh, 

FOR  HIS  wanderings. 

And  said,  "You  cannot  want  to  live, 

*     *     * 

You're  little-er  than  I." 

AND  HE'S  awake  now. 

*    •    * 

The  fishes  squirm  and  wriggle  still, 

AND  I'VE  got  to  go. 

Beside  that  sandy  shore, 

I  THANK  you. 

The  cruel  little  darkey  boy, 

KENNETH  C.  BEATON. 

Was  never  heard  of  more. 

The  Eeverence  of  a  Bachelor. 

Order  is  Heaven's  first  law. 

SUCH  NONSENSE! 


207 


THE  BOGUS  DIAMOND 

Delilah  Jones  was  passing  fair, 

Her  form  divine,  her  voice  a  song, 
Like  molten  sunbeams  was  her  hair, 

Her  list  of  virtues  very  long. 

But  gems  have  flaws,  and  I've  been 
told 

Delilah  was  too  fond  of  gold. 

A  handsome  clerk  was  Clement  Leigh, 

His  salary  and  he  were  slim. 
He  loved  Delilah  Jones,  and  she 
Was  really  very  fond  of  him. 
So  when  he  urged  that  they  be 

wed, 
A  tender  "yes"  was  what  she  said. 

As  he  was  poor,  he  bought  a  ring 

Whose  diamond  was  made  of  paste, 
A  gorgeously  prismatic  thing; 

She  warmly  praised  his  rare  good 

taste. 
"When  I  am  rich,"  he  thought, 

"I'll  get 
A  gem  and  have  the  ring  reset." 

Next  morn  the  sun  shone  on  the  stone, 
Like  splintered  rainbows  it  became. 
"To  think  it's  all  my  very  own! 
It's  like  a  multi-coloured  flame. 
It  must  have  cost  a  heap  of  mun. 
I'll  ask  a  jeweller  for  fun." 

She  took  it  down  to  Maiden  Lane, 
And  asked  a  jeweller  its  worth. 
He  answered  her  in  merry  vein 
(He  seemed  to  think  it  cause  for 

mirth) : 

"If  seven  dollars  bought  the  ring, 
You're  out  six-fifty  on  the  thing." 

Next  evening  when  her  lover  called: 
"Take  back  the  bauble,  'tis  but 
paste !" 

He  tried  to  plead  but  she  was  galled; 
He  took  the  ring  and  left  in  haste. 


Delilah  Jones  a  nun  became, 
And  never  breathed  the  fellow's 
name. 

He  pawned  the  ring  for  dollars  threo, 
Then  bought  a  bull-dog  pistol,  and 
A  ticket  in  the  lotterie; 

"She  longed  for  money,  not  my  hand. 
Now  if  I  win  the  biggest  prize, 
It  shall  be  hers — her  lover  dies." 

He  won  the  50,000  prize, 

And  willed  it  to  the  heartless  jade, 
Then   shot   himself — death    closed   his 
eyes. 

Delilah  was  of  course  dismayed; 

Her  vows  all  wealth  to  her  denied, 
And  of  chagrin  she  quickly  died. 
CHARLES  BATTELL  LOOMIS. 

This  is  real  tragedy. 


THE  LOBSTER  AND  THE  MAID 

He  was  a  gentle  lobster, 

(The  boats  had  just  come  in), 

He  did  not  love  the  fishermen, 
He  could  not  stand  their  din; 

And  so  he  quietly  stole  off 
As  if  it  were  no  sin. 

She  was  a  little  maiden; 

He  met  her  on  the  sand, 
"And  how  d'  you  do  ?"  the  lobster  said ; 

"Why  don't  you  give  your  hand?" 
For  why  she  edged  away  from  him 

He  could  not  understand. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  the  maiden  said, — 
"Excuse  me,  if  you  please;" 

And  put  her  hands  behind  her  back, 
And  doubled  up  her  knees: 

"I  always  thought  that  lobsters  were 
A  little  apt  to  squeeze." 


208 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


"Your  ignorance,"  the  lobster  said, 

"Is  natural,  I  fear. 
Such  scandal  is  a  shame,"  he  sobbed; 

"It  is  not  true,  my  dear!" 
And  with  his  pocket-handkerchief 

He  wiped  away  a  tear. 


So  out  she  put  her  little  hand, 
As  though  she  feared  him  not; 

When  some  one  grabbed  him  suddenly, 
And  put  him  in  a  pot, 

With  water  which  I  think  he  found 
Uncomfortably  hot. 


It  may  have  been  the  water  made 
The  blood  flow  to  his  head, 

It  may  have  been  that  dreadful  fib 
Lay  on  his  soul  like  lead: 

This  much  is  true, — he  went  in  grey, 
And  came  out  very  red. 


F.  E.  WEATHERLT. 


Cheep!  cheep  I 


SPRING 

Again  the  joyful  Spring  has  come, 
And   again   the   student  begins   to 

bum; 

Again  the  junior  sits  and  spoons, 
And  again  the  Spring  poet  is  full  of 
prunes. 

ALFRED  E.  DICKEY. 


This  took  a  prize  in  a  contest  at  the 
De  Pauw  Law  School.  No,  we  are  not 
going  to  print  the  others. 


THE  ANTISEPTIC   PLEDGE 

What?    "Leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup, 
And  I'll  not  ask  for  wine"? 

No,  thank  you,  lady;  I've  read  up 
About  that  kiss  of  thine. 

I  know  it's  full  of  leptothrix, 

Microbia  and  germs, 
Who'll  waft  me  toward  the  river  Styx 

In  scientific  terms. 

I  know  those  micrococci  wait 

For  me  to  take  some  sips, 
And  if  I  thus  should  dare  my  fate, 

They'll  camp  out  on  my  lips. 

A  myconostic  cataclysm 

Will  flood  my  tissues  o'er, 
A  polymorphous-organism 

Will  picnic  in  my  gore. 

The  sphffiro-bacteria 

Will  win  their  one  best  bet, 
And  virulent  diphtheria 

Will  be  the  least  I'll  get. 

So,  offer  me  a  pledge  to  sup 

Of  any  vintage  fine; 
But  leave  no  kiss  within  the  cup, 

Or  I'll  not  touch  the  wine. 

An  argument  for  Prohibition. 


THE  SCARE-CROW 

Br'er  Scare-crow's  built  to  suit  'is  job 
Wid  flappin'  legs  an'  arms  dat  bob; 
He  ain't  got  brains  for  discontent 
So  he  works  widout  no  argument. 
An'  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat,  in  dat — 
No,  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat. 

RUTH  MCENERY  STUART. 


THE  SCARECROW 


A  scarecrow  always  seems  to  me 
A  type  of  aristocracy; 
In  tattered  garb,  erect  and  proud, 
His  head  is  muddy  but  unbowed. 


SUCH  NONSENSE!  209 


THE  GREAT  BLACK  CROW 

The  crow — the  crow !  the  great  black  crow ! 
He  cares  not  to  meet  us  wherever  we  go ; 
He  cares  not  for  man,  beast,  friend,  nor  foe, 
For  nothing  will  eat  him  he  well  doth  know. 

Know — know!  you  great  black  crow! 
It's  a  comfort  to  feel  like  a  great  black  crow! 

The  crow — the  crow !  the  great  black  crow ! 
He  loves  the  fat  meadow — his  taste  is  low; 
He  loves  the  fat  worms,  and  he  dines  in  a  row 
With  fifty  fine  cousins  all  black  as  a  sloe. 

Sloe — sloe !  you  great  black  crow ! 
But  it's  jolly  to  fare  like  a  great  black  crow! 

The  crow — the  crow!  the  great  black  crow! 
He  never  gets  drunk  on  the  rain  or  snow; 
He  never  gets  drunk,  but  he  never  says  no! 
If  you  press  him  to  tipple  ever  so. 
So — so!  you  great  black  crow! 
It's  an  honour  to  soak  like  a  great  black  crow ! 

The  crow — the  crow!  the  great  black  crow! 
He  lives  for  a  hundred  year  and  mo'; 
He  lives  till  he  dies,  and  he  dies  as  slow 
As  the  morning  mists  down  the  hill  that  go. 

Go — go !  you  great  black  crow ! 
But  it's  fine  to  live  and  die  like  a  great  black  crow ! 

PHILIP  JAMES  BAILEY. 

It  must  be  unlucky  to  read  verse  like  that  on  a  Friday. 

YOUNG  LOCHINVAR 
The  True  Story  in  Blank  Verse 

Oh !  young  Lochinvar  has  come  out  of  the  West, 
Thro'  all  the  wide  border  his  horse  has  no  equal, 
Having  cost  him  forty-five  dollars  at  the  market, 
Where  good  nags,  fresh  from  the  country, 
With  burrs  still  in  their  tails  are  selling 
For  a  song;  and  save  his  good  broad  sword 
He  weapon  had  none,  except  a  seven-shooter 
Or  two,  a  pair  of  brass  knuckles,  and  an  Arkansaw 

Toothpick  in  his  boot,  so,  comparatively  speaking, 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone, 
Because  there  was  no  one  going  his  way. 


210  SUCH  NONSENSE! 


He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for 
Toll-gates;  he  swam  the  Eske  River  where  ford 
There  was  none,  and  saved  fifteen  cents 
In  ferriage,  but  lost  his  pocket-book,  containing 
Seventeen  dollars  and  a  half,  by  the  operation. 

Ere  he  alighted  at  the  Netherby  mansion 
He  stopped  to  borrow  a  dry  suit  of  clothes, 
And  this  delayed  him  considerably,  so  when 
He  arrived  the  bride  had  consented — the  gallant 
Came  late — f  or  a  laggard  in  love  and  a  dastard  in  war 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen,  and  the  guests  had  assembled. 

So,  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall 

Among  bridesmen  and  kinsmen  and  brothers  and 

Brothers-in-law  and  forty  or  fifty  cousins; 

Then  spake  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  ne'er  opened  his  head) : 

"Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  anger, 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar?" 
"I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  and  she  will  tell  you 
I  have  the  inside  track  in  the  free-for-all 
For  her  affections !  my  suit  you  denied ;  but  let 
That  pass,  while  I  tell  you,  old  fellow,  that  love 
Swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide, 
And  now  I  am  come  with  this  lost  love  of  mine 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  glass  of  beer; 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  yours  very  truly." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet,  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffed  off  the  nectar  and  threw  down  the  mug, 
Smashing  it  into  a  million  pieces,  while 
He  remarked  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  gun 
From  Seven-up  and  run  the  Number  Nine. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  but  she  looked  up  again 
For  she  well  understood  the  wink  in  his  eye; 
He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could 
Interfere,  "Now  tread  we  a  measure;  first  four 
Half  right  and  left;  swing,"  cried  young  Lochinvar. 

One  touch  to  her  hand  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door  and  the  charger 
Stood  near  on  three  legs  eating  post  hay; 
So  light  to  the  croup  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
Then  leaped  to  the  saddle  before  her. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


211 


"She  is  won !  we  are  gone !  over  bank,  bush,  and  spar, 
They'll  have  swift  steeds  that  follow" — but  in  the 

Excitement  of  the  moment  he  had  forgotten 

To  untie  the  horse,  and  the  poor  brute  could 

Only  gallop  in  a  little  circus  around  the 

Hitching-post ;  so  the  old  gent  collared 

The  youth  and  gave  him  the  awfullest  lambasting 

That  was  ever  heard  of  on  Canobie  Lee; 

So  dauntless  in  war  and  so  daring  in  love, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar? 

Remember  that  blank  verse  must  not  be  confounded  with  vers  libre. 

NATURE  STUDIES  WHY  DOTH  A  PUSSY  CAT? 


WHY  WOMBATS? 

The  woolly  Wombats  are  as  queer 

As  any  beast  we  see; 
The  reason  is  not  very  clear 

Why  Wombats  have  to  be. 

I  rather  think  it  is  because 

They  have  such  perky  little  claws; 

And  such  a  wipsey-wopsey  way 

Of  waddling  'round  and  eating  hay. 


THE  POPULAR  PORCUPINE 

Pretty  peculiar  are  the  Porcupines. 
Just    think    what   Nature   for    this 

beast  has  done! 
He  is  supplied  with  several  thousand 

spines, 

While  every  other  creature  has  but 
one! 

If  I  were  you,  a  porcupine  I'd  get; 

He's    gentle,    docile,    tractable    and 

mild. 
He  is  a  fascinating  household  pet, 

A  lovely  playmate  for  a  little  child. 

Ain't  Nature  wonderful! 


Why  doth  a  pussy  cat  prefer, 

When  dozing,  drowsy,  on  the  sill, 

To  purr  and  purr  and  purr  and  purr 
Instead  of  merely  keeping  still? 

With  nodding  head  and  folded  paws, 

She  keeps  it  up  without  a  cause. 

Why  doth  she  flaunt  her  lofty  tail 
In  such  a  stiff  right-angled  pose? 

If  lax  and  limp  she  let  it  trail 
'Twould  seem  more  restful,  Goodness 
knows ! 

When  strolling  'neath  the  chairs  or  bed, 

She  lets  it  bump  above  her  head. 

Why  doth  she  suddenly  refrain 
Prom  anything  she's  busied  in 

And   start   to   wash,   with   might   and 

main, 
Most  any  place  upon  her  skin? 

Why  doth  she  pick  that  special  spot, 

Not  seeing  if  it's  soiled  or  not? 

Why  doth  she  never  seem  to  care 
To  come  directly  when  you  call, 

But  makes  approach  from  here   and 

there, 
Or  sidles  half  around  the  wall? 

Though  doors  are  opened  at  her  mew, 

You  often  have  to  push  her  through. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


Why  doth  she  this?     Why  doth  she 

that? 

I  seek  for  cause — I  yearn  for  clews; 
The  subject  of  the  pussy  cat 

Doth  endlessly  inspire  the  mews. 
Why  doth  a  pussy  cat?    Ah,  me, 
I  haven't  got  the  least  idee. 

BURGES  JOHNSON. 

The  Eternal  Feminine. 

IF  WE  DIDN'T  HAVE  TO  EAT 

Life  would  be  an  easy  matter 
If  we  didn't  have  to  eat. 
If  we  never  had  to  utter, 
"Won't  you  pass  the  bread  and 

butter, 

Likewise  push  along  that  platter 
Full  of  meat?" 
Yes,  if  food  were  obsolete 
Life  would  be  a  jolly  treat, 
If  we  didn't — shine  or  shower, 
Old  or  young,  'bout  every  hour — 
Have  to  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat — 
'Twould  be  jolly  if  we  didn't  Lave 
to  eat. 

We  could  save  a  lot  of  money 
If  we  didn't  have  to  eat. 

Could  we  cease  our  busy  buying, 
Baking,  broiling,  brewing,  frying, 
Life  would  then  be  oh,  so  sunny 
And  complete; 

And  we  wouldn't  fear  to  greet 
Every  grocer  in  the  street 
If  we  didn't — man  and  woman, 
Every  hungry,  helpless  human — 
Have  to  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat — 
We'd  save  money  if  we  didn't  have 
to  eat. 

All  our  worry  would  be  over 
If  we  didn't  have  to  eat. 

Would  the  butcher,  baker,  grocer 
Get  our  hard-earned  dollars?    No, 
Sir! 


We  would  then  be  right  in  clover 
Cool  and  sweet. 

Want  and  hunger  we  could  cheat, 
And  we'd  get  there  with  both  feet, 
If  we  didn't — poor  or  wealthy, 
Halt  or  nimble,  sick  or  healthy — 
Have  to  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat, 
We  could  get  there  if  we  didn't  have 
to  eat. 

NIXON  WATERMAN. 

The  naked  truth  of  this  would  be 
marred  by  any  drapery  of  comment. 

SCIENTIFIC  PROOF 

//  we  square  a  lump  of  pemmican 

And  cube  a  pot  of  tea, 
Divide  a  musk  ox  by  the  span 

From  noon  to  half-past  three; 
If  we  calculate  the  Eskimo 

By  solar  parallax, 
Divide  the  sextant  by  a  floe 

And  multiply  the  cracks 
By  nth-powered  igloos,  we  may  prove 

All  correlated  facts. 

If  we  prolongate  the  parallel 

Indefinitely  forth, 
And  cube  a  sledge  till  we  can  tell 

The  real  square  root  of  North; 
Bisect  a  seal  and  bifurcate 

The  tangent  with  a  pack 
Of  Polar  ice,  we  get  the  rate 

Along  the  Polar  track, 
And  proof  of  corollary  things 

Which  otherwise  we  lack. 

If  we  multiply  the  Arctic  night 

By  X.  times  ox  times  moose, 
And  build  an  igloo  on  the  site 

Of  its  hypotenuse; 
If  we  circumscribe  an  arc  about 

An  Arctic  dog  and  weigh 
A  segment  of  it,  every  doubt 

Is  made  as  clear  as  day. 
We  also  get  the  price  of  ice 

F.  0.  B.  Baffin's  Bay. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


213 


If  we  amplify  the  Arctic  breeze 

By  logarithmic  signs, 
And  run  through  the  isosceles 

Imaginary  lines, 
We  find  that  twice  the  half  of  one 

Is  equal  to  the  whole. 
Which,  when  the  calculus  is  done, 

Quite  demonstrates  the  Pole. 
It  also  gives  its  length  and  breadth 

And  what's  the  price  of  coal. 

J.  W.  FOLET. 

Now  this  is  the  real  thing. 


ODE  TO  WORK  IN  SPRINGTIME 

Oh,  would  that  working  I  might  shun, 
From  labour  my  connection  sever, 

That  I  might  do  a  bit — or  none 
Whatever ! 


That  I  might  wander  over  hills, 
Establish  friendship  with  a  daisy, 

O'er  pretty  things  like  daffodils 
Go  crazy! 

That  I  might  at  the  heavens  gaze, 
Concern      myself      with      nothing 
weighty, 

Loaf,  at  a  stretch,  for  seven  days — 
Or  eighty. 

Why  can't  I  cease  a  slave  to  be, 
And  taste  existence  beatific 

On  some  fair  island,  hid  in  the 
Pacific? 


Instead  of  sitting  at  a  desk 

'Mid  undone  labours,   grimly  lurk- 
ing— 
Oh,  say,  what  is  there  picturesque 

In  working? 


But  no! — to  loaf  were  misery! — 
I  love  to  work !    Hang  isles  of  coral ! 

(To  end  this  otherwise  would  be 
Immoral!) 

THOMAS  R.  YBAREA. 

Sound  wisdom,  all  the  way  through. 


HUMOUR 

Humour  is  the  eudemonological  pes- 
simism which  includes  within  itself  a 
teleological  evolutionary  optimism, 
which  may  cause  a  realistic,  radical  and 
universal  reconciliation  to  appear  as 
possible. 

What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so 
well  expressed. 

THE  HERRING 

"The  Herring  he  loves  the  merry  moon- 
light 

And  the  Mackerel  loves  the  wind, 
But  the  Oyster  loves  the  dredging  song 
For  he  comes  of  a  gentler  kind." 
SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

When  Sir  Walter  could  do  this  sort 
of  thing  in  such  masterly  fashion,  were 
't  not  a  pity  that  he  must  needs  grind 
out  Waverley  novels  for  a  living. 

AS  TO  THE  WEATHER 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

Ere  my  childhood  flitted  by, 
It  was  cold  then  in  December, 

And  was  warmer  in  July. 
In  the  winter  there  were  freezings — 

In  the  summer  there  were  thaws; 
But  the  weather  isn't  now  at  all 

Like  what  it  used  to  was ! 


214 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


NATURE  FAKERS'  FANCIES 

The  cassowary  is  a  bird 

That's  hard  to  capture,  very. 
Folks   hunting  for  her   plumes   have 

made 
The  cassowary  wary. 

KANSAS  CITY  TIMES. 


But  once  a  cassowary  strolled 

Too  near  an  alligator, 
And  with  one  wriggle,  snap  and  gulp 

The  alligator  ate  her. 

CHICAGO  TRIBUNE. 


The  dromedary  roamed  about, 
Or  toiled  to  fetch  and  carry; 

Until  some  Yankee  fitted  out 
A  dromedary  dairy. 

INDIANAPOLIS  NEWS. 


But  dromedaries  oft  are  shy, 
And  this  one  loathed  a  spider — 

She  ran  away  when  one  came  by 
Because  the  spider  eyed  her. 

CLEVELAND  LEADER. 


Behemoth  and  some  dynamite 

Got  in  a  serious  fuss; 
The  detonation  left  the  hip- 

Popotamus  a  muss. 

MONMOUTH  (ILL.)  ATLAS. 


An  anaconda  told  a  hen 
That  of  her  he  was  fonder 

Than   all  things  else.     But  she  soon 

found 
The  anaconda'd  conned  her. 

MlDDLETOWN    (CONN.)    NEWS. 

Some  people  like  these. 


AFTER   OLIVER 

My  sense  of  sight  is  very  keen, 
My  sense  of  hearing  weak. 

One  time  I  saw  a  mountain  pass, 
But  could  not  hear  its  peak. 

OLIVER  HERFORD. 


Why,  Ollie,  that  you  failed  in  this 

Is  not  so  very  queer, 
To  hear  its  peak  you  should,  you  know, 

Have  had  a  mountaineer. 

BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT. 


But  if  I  saw  a  mountain  pass, 

My  eye  I'd  never  drop ; 
I'd  keep  it  turned  upon  the  height, 

And  see  the  mountain's  top. 

PHILADELPHIA  PUBLIC  LEDGER. 


I  didn't  see  the  mountain  pass, 
Nor  hear  its  peak,  by  George ! 

But  when  it  comes  to  storing  stuff, 
I  saw  the  mountain  gorge ! 

EXCHANGE. 


The  mountain,  peaked  at  this, 
Frowned  dark  while  Ollie  guyed; 

A  cloud  o'erspread  its  lofty  brow 
And  then  the  mountain  side. 

TRANSCRIPT. 


If  Ollie  could  not  hear  its  peak, 

Or  song  of  any  bird, 
Of  lambs,  or  cows  upon  its  slope, 

Be  sure  the  mountain  herd. 

L.  M. 


Yes,  1  think  they're  funny. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


215 


NAN'S  ADVENTURES  UP  TO 
DATE 

There  once  was  a  man  from  Nantucket, 
Who  kept  all  his  cash  in  a  bucket, 

But  his  daughter,  named  Nan, 

Ran  away  with  a  man, 
And  as  for  the  bucket,  Nantucket. 
PRINCKTOK  TIGER. 

But   he   followed   the   pair   to   Paw- 
tucket — 

The  man  and  the  girl  with  the  bucket; 
And  he  said  to  the  man 
He  was  welcome  to  Nan, 
But  as  for  the  bucket,  Pawtucket. 
CHICAGO  TRIBUNE. 

Then  the  pair  followed  Pa  to  Man- 

hasset, 
Where  he  still  held  the  cash  as  an 

asset ; 

But  Nan  and  the  man 
Stole  the  money  and  ran, 
And  as  for  the  bucket,  Manh-isset. 
NEW  YORK  PRESS. 

So  they  beat  their  way  up  to  Woon- 

socket, 
Where  the  judge  found  their  names  on 

the  docket; 

When  'twas  over,  the  man 
Remarked  sadly  to  Nan: 
"Gee!    Didn't  the  legal  Woonsocket!" 
CHICAGO  RECORD-HERALD. 

But  they  came  to  the  river  Shetucket, 
And  they  still  had  the   cash  in  the 

bucket ; 

'Twas  a  sad,  sad  affair; 
Nan  left  the  man  there, 
And  as  for  the  bucket,  Shetucket. 
NEW  HAVEN  REGISTER. 

Pa  followed  Nan  to  Jamaica, 

Where  a  copper  did  soon  overtake  her. 

"Where's  the  bucket?"  he  cried. 

"Won't  tell,"  Nan  replied. 


Then     Pa     shouted,     "Judge,     won't 
Jamaica  f '  Ex. 

With  Nan's  cash  Pa  lit  out  for  Miami 
But  in  jail  he  remarked,  "Now,  where 

am  If' 

Nan  said  with  a  jeer: 
"You're  in  jail,  Pa,  I  fear." 
And  Pa  sadly  replied,  "Oh,  Miami !" 

Ex. 

Nan's  bucket  was  really  a  sack 
And  she  bundled  it  into  a  hack; 

Pa  weeps — good  old  man — 

For  a  far-away  Nan. 
Her  address  now  is,  Nan,  Hackensack. 
NEW  YORK  SUN. 

"Anxious"  inquires  whether  the  lines 

"There  was  once  an  old  man  of  Key 

West 
Who  could  never  quite  button  his  vest" 

are  anacrustic  amphibrachic  trimeter 
catalectic  or  anapestic  trimeter  acata- 
lectic,  and  whether  it  makes  any  dif- 
ference which  way  they  are  scanned. 

The  lines  seem  to  be  part  of  a  muti- 
lated strophe  which  in  its  entirety  was 
a  limerick.  The  third,  fourth  and  fifth 
lines  of  the  pentastich  are  missing. 
Without  the  third  and  fourth  lines  it  is 
impossible  to  say  whether  the  poet  de- 
sired to  have  his  work  regarded  as  am- 
phibrachic or  as  anapestic. 

In  limericks  similar  in  metre  to  the 
lines  quoted  above  some  poets  plainly 
show  their  preference  for  the  anapestic 
by  making  the  distich  consist  of  simple 
anapestic  dipodies.  Other  poets  adopt 
for  these  important  lines  metrical 
schemes  that  would  make  it  impossible 
to  scan  the  strophe  as  anapestic  with- 
out regarding  one  or  both  of  these  lines 
as  anacrustic,  acephalous  or  catalectic, 
or  perhaps  brachycatalectic  or  even 


216 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


hypercatalectic.  In  such  cases  the  em- 
ployment of  the  convenient  amphibrach 
as  the  foot  measure  would  probably  be 
in  accordance  with  the  poet's  intention. 

VERDANCY 

A  green  little  boy  in  a  green  little  way 

A  little  green  apple  devoured  one  day ; 

And  the  little  green  grasses  now  ten- 
derly wave 

O'er  the  little  green  apple  boy's  green 
little  grave.  * 

A  RULE 

I  never  split  infinitives, 

It  is  a  filthy  deed; 
I'll  never  let  them  soil  my  mouth, 

Except  in  case  of  need. 

THE  MICROBES 

Two  microbes  sat  on  a  pantry  shelf 
And     watched,     with     expressions 

pained, 

The  milkmaid's  stunts ; 
And  both  said  at  once, 
"Our    relations    are    going    to    be 
strained." 

THE  PRIMROSE  PATH 

0,  Little  Sister  of  the  Poor, 

Thou  estimable  She, 
To  heal  and  cure,  and  still  endure 

A  life  like  toast  and  tea! 
The  ostentatious  shrine  be  thine, 

Since,  cosily  to  be 
A  Little  Brother  of  the  Rich 

Is  good  enough  for  me. 

N.  M. 

PING  WING 

Ping  Wing,  the  pieman's  son, 
Was  the  very  worst  boy  in  all  Canton ; 
He  stole  his  mother's  pickled  mice, 
And  threw  the  cat  in  the  boiling  rice. 


INDIFFERENCE 

The  cat  is  in  the  parlour, 
The  dog  is  in  the  lake; 

The  cow  is  in  the  hammock, — 
What  difference  does  it  make  ? 

MANILA 

Oh,  dewy  was  the  morning,  upon  the 

first  of  May, 
And  Dewey  was  the  admiral,  down  in 

Manila  Bay; 
And  dewy  were  the  Regent's  eyes,  them 

royal  orbs  of  blue, 
And  do  we  feel  discouraged?    We  do 

not  think  we  do ! 

EUGENE  F.  WARE. 

Said  Opie  Read  to  E.  P.  Roe, 
"How  do  you  like  Gaboriau?" 
"I  like  him  very  much  indeed!" 
Said  E.  P.  Roe  to  Opie  Read. 

JULIAN  STREET  AND 
JAMES  MONTGOMERY  FLAGG. 

THE  BELLS 

The  Bells  of  Hell  go  ting-a-ling-a-ling 

For  you,  but  not  for  me. 
For  me  the  angels  sing-a-ling-a-ling 

They've  got  the  goods  for  me. 
0  Death  where  is  thy  sting-a-ling-a- 


0  Grave,  thy  victoree? 
The  Bells  of  Hell  go  ting-a-ling-a-ling 
For  you,  but  not  for  me ! 

A  QUATRAIN 

A  quatrain  fills  a  little  space, 
Although  it's  pretty  small; 

And  oftentimes,  as  in  this  case, 
It  has  no  point  at  all. 

F.  P.  A. 


THERE  WAS  AN  OLD  MAN  WHO  SAID,  "GEE! 

i  CAN'T  MULTIPLY  SEVEN  BY  THREE! 

THOUGH    FOURTEEN    SEEMS   PLENTY, 
IT    MIGHT    COME   TO   TWENTY — 

i  HAVEN'T  THE  SLIGHTEST  IDEE!" 


And  yet  one  would  think,  as  one  looks  at  him  there, 
To  do  sums  he  would  surely  be  able; 
For  he  sits  in  a  most  professorial  chair 
At  a  multiplication  table. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


217 


WHY 

Do  you  know  why  the  rabbits  are  caught  in  the  snare 

Or  the  tabby  cat's  shot  on  the  tiles? 
Why  the  tigers  and  lions  creep  out  of  their  lair? 

Why  an  ostrich  will  travel  for  miles? 
Do  you  know  why  a  sane  man  will  whimper  and  cry 

And  weep  o'er  a  ribbon  or  glove? 
Why  a  cook  will  put  sugar  for  salt  in  a  pie? 

Do  you  know?    Well,  I'll  tell  you — it's  Love. 

H.  P.  STEVENS. 

A  SOLILOQUY 

To  sniggle  or  to  dibble,  that's  the  question! 

Whether  to  bait  a  hook  with  worm  or  bumble, 

Or  to  take  up  arms  of  any  sea,  some  trouble 

To  fish,  and  then  home  send  'em.    To  fly — to  whip — 

To  moor  and  tie  my  boat  up  by  the  end 

To  any  wooden  post  or  natural  rock 

We  may  be  near  to,  on  a  Preservation 

Devoutly  to  be  fished.     To  fly — to  whip — 

To  whip!    Perchance  to  bream; — and  there's  the  chub! 

F.  C.  BURMAND. 


CYNICUS  TO  W.  SHAKESPEARE 

You  wrote  a  line  too  much,  my  sage, 
Of  seers  the  first,  and  first  of  sayers ; 

For  only  half  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  only  all  the  women  players. 
J.  K.  STEPHEN. 


A  TRIOLET 

I  wished  to  sing  my  love; 

I  cannot  do  so  now. 
As  I  remarked  above 
I  wished  to  sing  my  love, 
But  Kate  crossed  with  her  cow, 
And  gave  my  love  a  shove. 

I  wished  to  sing  my  love, 
I  cannot  do  so  now. 

JOHN  TWIG. 


SENEX  TO  MATT.  PRIOR 

Ah!  Matt,  old  age  has  brought  to  me 
Thy  wisdom,  less  thy  certainty; 
The  world's  a  jest,  and  joy's  a  trinket ; 
I  knew  that  once, — but  now  I  think  it. 
J.  K.  STEPHEN. 

ON  THE  LATIN  GERUNDS 

When  Dido's  spouse  to  Dido  would  not 

come, 
She  mourned  in  silence,  and  was  Di  Do 

Dum.  THEODORE  HOOK. 

A  PRACTICAL  ANSWER 

Says  Hyam  to  Moses, 
"Let's  cut  off  our  noses." 
Says  Moses  to  Hyam, 
"Ma  tear,  who  would  buy  'em  ?" 
SHIRLEY  BROOKS. 


218 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


ON  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOUR 

He  cannot  be  complete  in  aught 
Who  is  not  humorously  prone; 

A  man  without  a  merry  thought 
Can  hardly  have  a  funny-bone. 
FREDERICK  LOCKER. 

MORE  WALKS 

Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad, 

How  many  rich  I  see; 
There's  A.  and  B.  and  C.  and  D. 

All  better  off  than  me ! 

RICHARD  H.  BARHAM. 

ON  A  JURY 

Next  morning  twelve  citizens  came 
('Twas   the  coroner  bade  them  at- 
tend,)     • 

To  the  end  that  it  might  be  determined 
How  the  man   had  determined   his 
end! 

JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE. 

SOME  LADIES 

Some  ladies  now  make  pretty  songs, 
And  some  make  pretty  nurses; 

Some  men  are  great  at  righting  wrongs 
And  some  at  writing  verses. 

FREDERICK  LOCKER, 

THE  CAREFUL  PENMAN 

A  Persian  penman  named  Aziz, 

Remarked,  "I  think  I  know  my  biz. 

For  when  I  write  my  name  as  is, 
It  is  Aziz  as  is  Aziz." 

LOGICAL  ENGLISH 

I  said,  "This  horse,  sir,  will  you  shoe  ?" 
And  soon  the  horse  was  shod. 

I  said,  "This  deed,  sir,  will  you  do?" 
And  soon  the  deed  was  dod! 


I    said,    "This    stick,    sir,    will    you 
break?" 

At  once  the  stick  he  broke. 
I  said,  "This  coat,  sir,  will  you  make?" 

And  soon  the  coat  he  moke! 


LOGIC 

I  have  a  copper  penny  and  anotner 

copper  penny, 
Well,  then,  of  course,  I  have  two 

copper  pence; 
I  have  a  cousin   Jenny  and  another 

cousin  Jenny, 

Well,   pray,   then,   do   I   have  two 
cousin  Jence? 


A  Linear  Descendant 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


219 


TO  GELETT  BURGESS 

I  never  saw  a  Sulphite.    No, 
I  never  hope  to  see  one; 

I  am  acquiring  brain  fag,  though, 
Endeavouring  to  be  one. 

F.  P.  A. 

MADAME  SANS  SOUCI 

"Bon  jour,  Madame  Sans  Souci; 
Combien  coutent  ces  soucis  ci?" 
"Six  sous."    "Six  sous  ces  soucis  ci! 
C'est  trop  cher,  Madame  Sans  Souci!" 

THE  ADVENTURES   OF  LITTLE 
KATY 

Little  Katy  wandered  where 
She  espied  a  Grizzly  Bear; 
Noticing  his  savage  wrath, 
Katy  kicked  him  from  her  path. 

Little  Katy,  darling  child, 
Met  a  Leopard,  fierce  and  wild; 
Ere  the  ugly  creature  sped  off, 
Little  Katy  bit  his  head  off. 

Katy,  in  her  best  blue  cape, 
Met  a  furious  angry  Ape; 
But  his  rage  received  a  check, — 
Little  Katy  wrung  his  neck. 

Little  Katy  met  a  Lion, — 
From  starvation  he  was  dyin'; 
Though     misfortune     hadn't     crushed 

him, 
Katy  stepped  on  him  and  squshed  him. 

Little  Katy,  near  the  Niger, 
Met  a  big,  bloodthirsty  Tiger, 
Tied  a  brick  around  his  throat, 
Went  and  drowned  him  in  the  moat. 

Little  Katy  had  a  fuss 
With  a  Hippopotamus; 
Though  the  beast  was  somewhat 

weighty, 
He  was  soon  knocked  out  by  Katy. 


Little  Katy  flushed  with  ire 
As  a  hungry  Wolf  came  nigh  her, 
So  impertinent  was  he, 
Katy  chased  him  up  a  tree. 

Little  Katy,  once,  by  chance, 

Met  a  drove  of  Elephants. 

Katy,  fearing  they  might  crowd  her, 

Scattered  'round  some  Persian  powder. 


ON   THE   ARISTOCRACY   OF 
HARVARD 

I  come  from  good  old  Boston, 

The  home  of  the  bean  and  the  cod; 
Where  the  Cabots  speak  only  to  Low- 
ells, 

And  the  Lowells  speak  only  to  God ! 
DR.  SAMUEL  G.  BUSHNELL. 


ON  THE  DEMOCRACY  OF  YALE 

Here's  to  the  town  of  New  Haven, 

The  home  of  the  truth  and  the  light ; 
Where  God  speaks  to  Jones  in  the  very 

same  tones, 

That    he    uses    with    Hadley    and 
Dwight!  DEAN  JONES. 


THE  MODERN  MAID 

"Where  are  you  going  to,  my  pretty 

maid?" 

"I'm  going  to  lecture,  sir,"  she  said. 
"And  what  is  the  subject,  my  pretty 

maid?" 

"Total  extinction  of  man,"  she  said. 
"Then  nobody'll  marry  you,  my  pretty 

maid." 
"Advanced  women  don't  marry,  sir," 

she  said. 

ANON. 


220 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


BALLADS  OF  BAD  BABIES 

Little  Izzy  Izzenheimer 

Thought  he'd  be  a  steeple  climber. 

Climbed  'way  up  St.  Peter's  steeple, 

Then  fell  off  and  killed  some  people. 

Broke  the  -e-r  off  his  name; 

Wasn't  that  the  nicest  game? 
Papa  got  there  just  in  time 
To  pick  up  Izzy  Izzenheim. 


Little  Katie  Katzen jammer 
Saw  an  axe  and  saw  a  hammer; 
Saw  her  lovely  Auntie  Sadie 
Sitting  underneath  a  shady 
Tree  upon  a  little  hummock; 
Went  and  sawed  her  in  the  stummock. 
When  her  auntie  saw  the  hammer, 
She  licked  Katie  Katzenjammer. 


Howard  Arthur  Spitzenmiller 
Tried  to  be  a  lady  killer; 
Saw  a  lady  in  a  house, 
Crept  up  still  as  any  mouse; 
Took  a  gun  and  shot  her  dead. 
"That  will  do  for  one,"  he  said. 
Wasn't  Howard  Spitzenmiller 
Just  the  swiftest  lady  killer? 


Wilhelmina  Mergenthaler 
Had  a  lovely  ermine  collar 
Made  of  just  the  nicest  fur, 
That  her  mamma  bought  for  her. 
Once,  when  mamma  was  away, 
Out  a-shopping  for  the  day, 
Wilhelmina  Mergenthaler 
Ate  her  lovely  ermine  collar. 

HARRY  P.  TABER. 


TRUTHLESS  RHYMES  FOR 
HEARTHLESS  HOMES 

Included  by  special  request 

Willie,  with  a  thirst  for  gore, 
Nailed  the  baby  to  the  door; 
Mother  said,  with  humour  quaint, 
"Willie,  dear,  don't  mar  the  paint." 

Willie  fell  down  the  elevator, 
Wasn't  found  till  six  days  later. 
Then  the  neighbours  said,  "Gee  whiz! 
What  a  spoiled  child  Willie  is." 

Willie  poisoned  Auntie's  tea, 
Auntie  died  in  agony. 
Uncle  came  and  looked  quite  vexed, 
"Really,  Will,"  said  he,  "what  next?" 

Willie  saw  some  dynamite, 
Couldn't  understand  it  quite; 
Curiosity  never  pays; 
It  rained  Willie  seven  days. 

Willie  in  the  cauldron  fell, — 
See  the  grief  on  mother's  brow; 
Mother  loved  her  darling  well, — 
Willie's  quite  hard-boiled  by  now. 

Willie  dropped  a  worm  that  wriggled 
In  his  mother's  cup  of  tea. 
When  she  saw  the  joke  she  giggled: 
"Ain't  he  smart  as  he  can  be!" 


Willie  on  the  railroad  track — 
The  engine  gave  a  squeal. 
The  engine-driver  took  a  spade 
And  scraped  him  off  the  wheel. 

Willie  pushed  his  Aunt  Elizer 
Off  a  rock  into  a  geyser; 
Now  he's  feeling  quite  dejected,- 
Didn't  get  the  rise  expected. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


221 


Loud  the  baby  screamed,  and  louder; 
Willie  fed  her  insect  powder. 
Scolded,  answered  with  a  shrug, 
"Little  sister  acted  bug." 

With  green  apples  little  Willie 
His  interior  precincts  piled 
For  the  first  time  since  he  toddled 
Willie's  now  an  angel  child. 

Willie,  while  the  ice  was  thin, 
Tried  to  skate  and  he  fell  in. 
Willie  tasted  rather  nice, 
When  they  cut  the  pond  for  ice. 

Baby's  in  the  ice-cream  freezer, 
Willie  turns  the  crank  to  squeeze  her; 
Ma  says: — "Dear,  the  way  that's  fixed 
You'll    have    that    child    completely 
mixed." 

Willie  stopped  a  cable  car 
While  standing  on  the  track. 
It  gave  his  system  quite  a  jar — 
His  sisters  now  wear  black. 

*Into  the  family  drinking  well 
Willie  pushed  his  sister  Nell. 
She's  there  yet,  because  it  kilt  her — 
Now  we  have  to  buy  a  filter. 

Algernon  Jones  ate  Paris  Green, 
And  died  all  over  the  carpet  clean, 
The  loss  of  the  rug  piqued   Algie's 

father, 
Who   remarked,    "He   always   was   a 

bother." 

Ermintrude  Hopkins  broke  her  spine, 
And  passed  away  at  half -past  nine. 
Her    mother    was    sorry,     and    said, 

"What  a  pity! 
I'm  already  late  for  my  train  to  the 

city." 

Baby  sat  on  the  window-seat; 
Mary  pushed  Baby  into  the  street; 


Baby's  brains  were  dashed  out  in  the 

"arey," 
And  mother  held  up  her  forefinger  at 

Mary. 

Pity  now  poor  Mary  Ames, 
Blinded  by  her  brother  James; 
Red-hot  nails  in  her  eyes  he  poked — 
I  never  saw  Mary  more  provoked. 


UNPERTURBED  MAMMA 

JEANNETTE'S  PRANKS 

One  night  Jeannette,  a  roguish  little 
lass, 

Sneaked  in  the  guest-room  and  turned 
on  the  gas; 

When  morning  dawned  the  guest  was 
dead  in  bed, 

But  "children  will  be  children,"  mam- 
ma said. 

JOHNNY'S  FUN 

Johnny  climbed  up  on  the  bed, 
And  hammered  nails  in  mamma's  head. 
Though  the  child  was  much  elated, 
Mamma  felt  quite  irritated. 

BABY'S  LOOKS 

Bobby  with  the  nursery  shears 
Cut  off  both  the  baby's  ears; 
At  the  baby,  so  unsightly, 
Mamma  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly. 

MERRY  MOSES 

Merry  funny  little  Moses 
Burnt  off  both  his  brothers'  noses; 
And  it  made  them  look  so  queer 
Mamma  said :    "Why,  Moses,  dear !" 


222 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


HEEDLESS  WILL 


Wilfiam  looking  down  the  gun 
Pulls  the  trigger  "just  for  fun." 
Mother  says  in  accents  pained — 
"William  is  so  scatter-brained." 


CUNNING  FREDDIE 


Winsome,  merry  little  Fred 
Powdered  glass  to  his  sister  fed. 
Mamma  smiled  at  Freddy's  fun 
Though  she  should  have  chid  her  son. 


BENNY'S  FUN 

Benny  stuffed  an  old  tin  goat 
Down  his  little  sister's  throat. 
Mamma  heard  the  baby  choking, 
And  she  said,  "Why,  how  provoking!" 


CHEERFUL  SYLVIA 

Little  Sylvia,  pretty  elf, 
Shot  her  brothers,  then  herself; 
Papa,  when  he  saw  them  dead, 
Felt  a  bit  disquieted. 


LIMERICKS 


Inspiration,  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory 


"LIMERICKS" 


The  origin  of  the  term  Limerick,  as 
applied  to  a  certain  form  of  five-line 
stanza,  seems  to  be  as  yet  undiscovered. 
A  statement  was  recently  made  that 
this  stanza  is  so-called  because  it  was 
invented  by  Edward  Lear,  and  that  he 
was  born  in  Limerick,  Ireland. 

But  Mr.  Lear  was  born  in  London, 
and  furthermore,  he  emphatically  dis- 
claims the  credit  of  having  created  the 
type,  and  says  that  it  was  suggested 
to  him  by  a  friend  as  a  form  of  verse 
lending  itself  to  a  limitless  variety  of 
humorous  rhymes.  Another  suggestion 
offered  is  that  the  first  stanza  of  the 
kind  referred  to  the  town  of  Limerick. 
This  can  scarcely  be  true,  for  the  type 
dates  back  many  centuries,  although 
the  title  is  of  comparatively  recent 
application. 

Another  explanation,  and  possibly 
the  true  one,  is  that  a  witty  Irishman 
of  Limerick  made  this  particular  form 
of  stanza  popular  in  political  squibs. 

The  earliest  known  examples  of  the 
stanza  are  found  in  Halliwell's  collec- 
tion of  English  Nursery  Rhymes, 
among  a  large  mass  of  jingling  folk- 
lore, to  which  it  is  impossible  to 
ascribe  definite  dates,  but  which  was 
current  about  the  fifteenth  or  sixteenth 
century. 

The  first  line  of  these  stanzas  is 
usually  a  string  of  meaningless  words 
which  also  forms  a  refrain  at  the  last. 
A  well-known  one  is: — 

Diddledy,  diddledy,  dumpty! 
The  cat  ran  up  the  plum-tree; 

Half  a  crown 

To  fetch  her  down, 
Diddledy,  diddledy,  dumpty. 


Another  very  ancient  specimen  is : — 

Upon  my  word  and  honour, 
As  I  was  going  to  Bonner, 

I  met  a  pig 

Without  a  wig, 
Upon  my  word  and  honour. 

But  these  lack  the  distinguishing 
trait  of  the  modern  Limerick,  which  is 
a  first  line  stating  the  existence  of  a 
certain  person  in  a  definite  place. 

So  far  as  may  be  verified,  the  oldest 
of  these  are  also  found  among  the 
"Mother  Goose"  rhymes,  collected  by 
Halliwell. 

There  was  an  old  man  of  Tobago, 
Who  lived  upon  rice,  gruel  and  sago; 

Till,  much  to  his  bliss, 

His  physician  said  this: 
"To  a  leg,  sir,  of  mutton,  you  may  'go." 

There  was  an  old  soldier  of  Bister, 
Went  walking  one  day  with  his  sister; 

When  a  cow,  at  one  poke, 

Tossed  her  into  an  oak, 
Before  the  old  gentleman  missed  her. 

After  these,  the  earliest  Limerick  of 
positive  and  authenticated  date,  is  one 
current  in  an  English  public  school  in 
1834:— 

There  was  a  young  man  of  St.  Kitts 
Who  was  very  much  troubled  with  fits ; 
The  eclipse  of  the  moon 
Threw  him  into  a  swoon, 
When  he  tumbled  and  broke  into  bits. 

In  1846  Edward  Lear  published  his 
first  collection  of  "Nonsense  Rhymes," 


225 


226 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


which,  though  not  called  Limericks,  are 
all  written  in  that  form. 


There  was  an  Old  Man  with  a  beard, 
Who  said,  "It  is  just  as  I  feared! 
Two  Owls  and  a  Hen,  Four  Larks  and 

a  Wren, 

Have   all   built   their  nests   in  my 
beard." 


There  was  an  Old  Man  of  Apulia, 

Whose  conduct  was  very  peculiar; 

He  fed  twenty  sons  upon  nothing  but 

buns, 
That  whimsical  Man  of  Apulia. 


There  was  an  Old  Man  of  Aosta, 
Who  possessed  a  large  cow,  but  he  lost 
her; 

But  they  said,  "Don't  you  see, 

She  has  run  up  a  tree, 
You  invidious  Old  Man  of  Aosta?" 


There  was  an  Old  Person  of  Button, 
Whose  head  was  as  small  as  a  button, 

So  to  make  it  look  big 

He  purchased  a  wig 
And  rapidly  rushed  about  Button. 


There  once  was  an  Old  Man  of  Lyme 
Who  married  three  wives  at  a  time. 
When  asked,  "Why  the  third?" 

He  replied,  "One's  absurd, 
And  bigamy,  sir,  is  a  crime." 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


227 


There  once  was  a  baby  of  yore, 
But  no  one  knew  what  it  was  for; 

And  being  afraid 

It  might  be  mislaid, 
They  put  it  away  in  a  drawer. 


There  was  an  Old  Person  of  Benin, 
Whose  clothes  weren't  fit  to  be  seen  in ; 
When  told  that  he  shouldn't, 
He  replied,  "Gumscrumrudent !" 
A  word  of  inscrutable  meaning. 


There  was  a  young  lady  of  Poole, 
Who    thought    she    would    set    up    a 

school ; 

But  all  she  could  teach 
Were  the  nine  parts  of  speech, 
And  how  to  make  gooseberry  fool. 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  Skye, 
Who  declared  she  was  going  to  die, 

But  was  instantly  cured 

When  politely  assured, 
If  she  did  there  was  no  one  would  cry. 


There  was  a  young  lady  of  Oakham, 
Who  would  steal  your  cigars  and  then 

soak  'em 

In  treacle  and  rum, 
And  then  smear  them  with  gum, 
So  it  wasn't  a  pleasure  to  smoke  'em. 
SHIRLEY  BROOKS,  1863. 

LIMERICK  RECITED  BY  A 
CHINESE  INFANT 

If-itty-teshi-mow  Jays 
Haddee  ny   up-plo-now-shi-buh  nays; 
ha!  ha! 

He  lote  im  aw  dow, 

Witty  motti-fy  flow; 
A-flew-ty  ho-lot-itty  flays!  Hee! 

TRANSLATION 

Infinitesimal  James 

Had  nine  unpronounceable  names; 
He  wrote  them  all  down, 
With  a  mortified  frown, 

And  threw  the  whole  lot  in  the  flames. 

For  beauty  I  am  not  a  star, 
There  are  others  more  handsome  by 
far; 

But  my  face  I  don't  mind  it, 

For  I  am  behind  it, 
It's  the  people  in  front  that  I  jar. 

Whenever  you  see  a  rhinoceros — 
So  fierce  he  would  trample  across  Eros ; 
If  a  tree  be  in  sight, 
Climb  quick,  for  his  might 
Is  a  match  for  the  gods — he  would  toss 
Eros! 

There  is  a  young  artist  called  Whistler, 
Who  in  every  respect  is  a  bristler; 
A  tube  of  white  lead, 
Or  a  punch  on  the  head, 
Come  equally  handy  to  Whistler. 

DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI. 


228 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


A  Tutor  who  tooted  the  flute 
Tried  to  teach  two  young  tooters  to 
toot; 

Said  two  to  the  Tutor, 

"Is  it  harder  to  toot,  or 
To  tutor  two  tooters  to  toot?" 


There  once  was  a  Happy  Hyena 
Who  played  on  an  old  concertina; 

He  dressed  very  well, 

And  in  his  lapel 
He  carelessly  stuck  a  verbena. 


There  once  was  a  corpulent  carp 
Who  wanted  to  play  on  a  harp; 

But  to  his  chagrin 

So  short  was  his  fin, 
He  couldn't  reach  up  to  C  sharp. 


A  very  grandiloquent  goat 
Sat  down  at  a  gay  table  d'hote, 
He  ate  up  the  corks, 
The  knives  and  the  forks, 
Remarking,  "On  these  things  I  dote." 


Then  before  his  repast  he  began, 
While  pausing  the  menu  to  scan, 
He  said :  "Corn,  if  you  please, 
And  tomatoes  and  pease, 
I'd  like  to  have  served  in  the  can." 
CAROLYN  WELLS. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


229 


There   was    a   young    German    called 
Huffer, 

A  hypochondriacal  buffer; 
To  shout  Schopenhauer 
From  the  top  of  a  tower 

Was  the  highest  enjoyment  of  Huffer. 

This  one  was  written  on  the  fly-leaf 
of  a  volume  of  "Lear's  Nonsense 
Verses,"  presented  to  Oliver  Maddox 
Brown : 

There  was  a  young  rascal  called  Nolly, 

Whose  habits,  though  dirty,  were  jolly, 

And  when  this  book  comes 

To  be  marked  with  his  thumbs 

You  may  know  that  its  owner  is  Nolly. 

There  is  a  creator  named  God, 
Whose  doings  are  sometimes  quite  odd ; 

He  made  a  painter  named  Val, 

And  I  say  and  I  shall, 
Tlu.t  he  does  no  great  credit  to  God. 
J.  M.  WHISTLER. 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  station, 
"I  love  man!"  was  her  sole  exclama- 
tion; 

But  when  men  cried,  "You  flatter !" 
She  replied,  "Oh,  no  matter ! 
Isle  of  Man,  is  the  true  explanation." 
LEWIS  CARROLL. 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  Twicken- 
ham, 
Whose  shoes  were  too  tight  to  walk 

quick  in  'em; 

She  came  back  from  her  walk, 
Looking  white  as  a  chalk, 
And  took  'em  both  off  and  was  sick  in 
'em. 

OLIVER  HERFORD. 

There  was  a  young  lady  whose  dream 
Was  to  feed  a  black  cat  on  whipped 
cream : 


But  the  first  cat  she  found 
Spilled  the  cream  on  the  ground, 
So  she  fed  a  whipped  cat  on  black 
cream. 

DAVID  STARR  JORDAN. 

A  prudish  young  lady  named  Chaucer 
Said  "Oh,  fie!"  and  "For  shame!"  and 

"Oh,  law,  sir!" 
"Dividers  have  limbs 
Like  indelicate  hims, 
So  circles  I  draw  with  a  saucer." 

ARLO  BATES. 

II  existe  une  espinstere  a  Tours 
Un  peu  vite,  et  qui  portait  toujours 

Un  ulster  peau-de-phoque, 

Un  chapeau  bilicoque 
Et  des  nicrebocquers  en  velours. 

I  am  gai,  I  am  poet,  I  dwell 
Rupert  Street,  at  the  fifth.    I  am  svell. 
And  I  sing  tralala 
And  I  love  my  mamma, 
And  the  English,  I  speaks  him  quite 
well! 

GEORGE  DU  MAURIER, 

There's  Nothing  in  Afternoon  Tea 
To  appeal  to  a  Person  like  Me; 

There  is  little  to  Eat; 

What  there  is  is  too  Sweet; 
And  I  feel  like  a  Cow  in  a  tree ! 

GELETT  BURGESS. 

There  was  a  young  lady  so  thin 
That  she  closely  resembled  a  pin; 
Don't  think  that  I'd  creep 
To  the  window  and  peep, 
I  was  told  by  a  friend  who  looked  in. 
GELETT  BURGESS. 

There  once  was  a  girl  of  Lahore, 
The  same  shape  behind  as  before; 

And  as  no  one  knew  where 

To  offer  a  chair, 
She  had  to  sit  down  on  the  floor. 


230 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


There  once  was  an  old  monk  of  Basing, 
Whose  salads  were  something  amazing ; 

But  he  told  his  confessor 

That  Nebuchadnezzar 
Had  given  him  hints  upon  grazing. 

There  once  was  a  girl  of  Clovelly 
Who  continued  to  eat  currant  jelly 
From  breakfast  till  noon, 
Then  she  laid  down  her  spoon, 
And  said — what  I'm  not  going  to  tell 
'ee! 

COSMO  MONKHOUSE. 


There  was  an  old  waiter  at  Wapping, 
Drew  corks  for  a  week  without  stop- 
ping; 

Cried  he,  "It's  too  bad! 
The  practice  I've  had ! 
Yet  cannot  prevent  them  from  pop- 
ping!" 


There  was  a  young  prince  in  Bombay, 
Who  always  would  have  his  own  way; 

He  pampered  his  horses 

On  five  or  six  courses, 
Himself  eating  nothing  but  hay. 

WALTER  PARKE. 


There  was  an  old  man  who  said,  "Gee ! 

7  can't  multiply  seven  by  three ! 
Though  fourteen  seems  plenty, 
It  might  come  to  twenty, — 

I  haven't  the  slightest  idee!" 


A  clever  Scotsman,  long  ago, 

With  notions  sage  and  conny, 
Who  owned  a  donkey,  lean  and  slow, 
Named    it    "Maxwelton,"    don't    you 

know, 

Because  its  "brays"  were  bonny. 
NIXON  WATERMAN. 


This      infant, — the      fat      one      who 

squints, — 
Is  really  a  Japanese  Quince. 

The  other,  I  guess, 

Is  a  Chinese  Quincess 
Grafted  on  from  a  Louis  Seize  chintz. 

GELETT  BURGESS. 


Said  Rev.  Rectangular  Square, 
"To  say  that  I'm  lost  is  not  fair; 

For,  though  you  have  found 

That  I  never  am  round, 
You  knew  all  the  time  I  was  there." 

CLINTON  BROOKS  BURGESS. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


231 


Said  Mrs.  Isosceles  Tri, 

"That  I'm  sharp  I've  no  wish  to  deny; 
But  I  do  not  dare 
To  be  perfectly  square — 

I'm  sure  if  I  did  I  should  die!" 

CLINTON  BROOKS  BURGESS. 

"It's  a  very  warm  day,"  observed  Billy. 

"I  hope  that  you  won't  think  it  silly 
If  I  say  that  this  heat 
Makes  me  think  'twould  be  sweet 

If  one  were  a  coolie  in  Chile!" 

TUDOR  JENKS. 

"THOSE  DELIGHTFUL  ENGLISH 

NAMES" 

"I  went,"  said  a  party  named  Knollys, 
"To  a  pub.  for  a  chop  and  some  rolls, 
And  there,  sitting  dumbly, 
Was  young  Algy  Cholmondeley, 
Something  worse   for   the   tossing   of 
bowls. 

"And  that  boisterous  chappy,  Jack  St. 

John; 

Was  yelling  like  any  wild  Injin 
As  if  frightening  bad  dreams 
Away  from  Dick  Wemyss, 
Whose  tipple  quite  plainly  had  been 
gin. 


"He  was  snoring,  but  only  a  wee  more 
Than  his  friend,  the  callow  Reg.  St. 

Maur, 

Whose  feet  were  both  driven 

In  the  lap  of  Tom  Ruthven — 

Could  position  absurd  ever  be  more? 


I  remarked  to  Pole- 


And  the  barmaid,  that  little  fool  Mary, 

(All  eyes  and  all  hands 

For  silly  Bob  Sandys), 
Said,    "E's   mad   'cause   'e   'asn't   'is 
share,  eh?' 

"So  I  cried,"  said  this  party  named 

Knollys, 

"  'For  me  put  no  chop  on  your  coals !' 
And  I  dined  down  at  Greenwich 
On  bacon  and  spinach, 
A  half  pint  of  bitter,  and  jowls." 
ED  MOTT. 

The  elephant  out  at  the  Zoo 
Has  really  got  nothing  to  do 

With  Cuban  Expansion 

Or  Strawberry  Mansion 
But  neither,  dear  reader,  have  you. 

There  was  an  old  man  of  Cadiz 
Who  affirmed  that  life  is  what  it  is. 
For  he  early  had  learnt, 
If  it  were  what  it  weren't, 
It  could  not  be  that  which  it  is. 

L  is  for  lovable  Lena, 
Who  met  a  ferocious  hyena; 

Whatever  occurred 

I  never  have  heard; 
But  anyhow,  L  is  for  Lena. 

There  was  a  young  fellow  named  Weir, 
Who  hadn't  an  atom  of  fear; 

He  indulged  a  desire 

To  touch  a  live  wire, 
('Most  any  old  line  will  do  here!) 


232 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


II  y  avait  une  demoiselle  de  Nigre, 

Qui  souriait  en  se  promenant  a  tigre; 

De  la  course  en  rentrant 

Voila  la  dame  en  dedans, 

Et  le  sourire  a  la  gueule  du  tigre. 


Erat  Romanorum  dictator 
Qui  hated  his  uxoris  mater; 

Cum  leo  her  edit, 

A  holler  he  dedit, 
Et  dixit,  "Vale,  ma,  until  later." 


There  was  a  young  man  from  Cornell, 
Who  said,  "I'm  aware  of  a  smell, 

But  whether  it's  drains 

Or  human  remains, 
I'm  really  unable  to  tell." 


There  was  a  young  lady  from  Joppa, 
Whose  friends  all  decided  to  'drop  her; 

She  went  with  a  friend 

On  a  trip  to  Ostend, — 
And  the  rest  of  the  story's  improper. 


There    once    was    a    sculptor    named 

Phidias, 
Whose  statues  by  some  were  thought 

hideous ; 

He  made  Aphrodite 
Without  any  nighty, 
Which  shocked  all  the  ultra-fastidious. 


John  woke  on  Jan.  first  and  felt  queer; 

Said,  "Crackers  I'll  swear  off  this  year ! 
For  the  lobster  and  wine 
And  the  rabbit  were  fine, — 

And  it  certainly  wasn't  the  beer." 


There  was  a  young  lady  of  Venice 
Who   used   hard-boiled   eggs   to   play 
tennis ; 

When  they  said,  "You  are  wrong," 

She  replied,  "Go  along! 
You  don't  know  how  prolific  my  hen 

is!" 


There  was  an  old  man  in  a  pie, 
Who  said,  "I  must  fly !    I  must  fly !" 
When  they  said,  "You  can't  do  it !" 
He  replied  that  he  knew  it, 
But  he  had  to  get  out  of  that  pie! 


THE  HOTTENTOT  TOT 

If  a  Hottentot  taught  a  Hottentot  tot 
To  tot  ere  the  tot  could  totter, 
Ought  the  Hottentot  tot 
To  be  taught  to  say  "aught" 
Or  "naught"?   or  what   ought  to  be 
taught  her? 

Or— 

If  to  hoot  and  toot  a  Hottentot  tot 
Be  taught  by  a  Hottentot  tooter, 
Should  the  tooter  get  hot  if  the  Hot- 
tentot tot 

Hoot  and  toot  at  the  Hottentot  tutor? 
CHARLES  S.  PUTNAM. 


HOTTENTOTALITY 

A  young  man  named  Hotten  had  spots, 
From  a  fever,  which  worried  him  lots, 

When  he  found  that  he  ailed, 

He  to  Africa  sailed, 
Where   hot   Hotten   taught  Hottentot 
tots. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


233 


THE  MISHAPS  OF  GENTLE  JANE 

THE  CARNIVOROUS  BEAR 

Gentle  Jane  went  walking,  where 
She  espied  a  Grizzly  Bear; 

Flustered  by  the  quadruped 
Gentle  Jane  just  lost  her  head. 

THE  RUDE  TRAIN 

Last  week  Tuesday,  gentle  Jane 
Met  a  passing  railroad  train; 

"Ah,  good  afternoon,"  she  said; 
But  the  train  just  cut  her  dead. 

THE    COMICAL    CONFLAGRATION 

Gentle  Jane,  when  burned  to  death, 
Murmured  with  her  latest  breath : 
"Well,  this  is  the  greatest  joke! 
All  my  plans  must  end  in  smoke." 

A  MISTAKEN  DESTINATION 

Jane,  picked  up  for  dead  one  day: 
In  the  morgue  was  laid  away. 
Gentle  Jane  said:  "I  won't  scold; 
But  this  makes  my  blood  run  cold." 

THE   READY-MIXED   PAINT 

Jane  fell  in  an  awful  faint 
In  a  tub  of  cobalt  paint. 
When  at  last  she  did  come  to, 
Gentle  Jane  looked  rather  blue. 

THE    SWIFT  BULLETS 

Gentle  Jane  once  chanced  to  sit 
Where  some  rifle-bullets  hit. 
Though  she  had  no  bumps  or  sprains, 
Gentle  Jane  felt  shooting  pains. 

THE  CARELESS  NIECE 

Once  her  brother's  child,  for  fun, 
Pointed  at  her  aunt  a  gun. 


At  this  conduct  of  her  niece's 
Gentle  Jane  went  all  to  pieces. 

THE  GAMBOLLING  GOAT 

Up  in  Harlem  wilds  remote 
Gentle   Jane   observed   a   goat. 
Shortly  afterward  they  met — 
Gentle  Jane  was  all  upset. 

A  SKYSCRAPER  SCRAPE 

From  the  Flatiron  Building's  top 
Gentle  Jane  once  chanced  to  drop. 
When  she  fell  into  the  town 
She  appeared  to  be  cast  down. 

THE  CARELESS  COAL-HOLE 

Gentle  Jane  walked  up  a  road 
Where  an  empty  coal-hole  showed. 
All  unheeding — in  a  minute 
Gentle  Jane  was  strictly  in  it. 

THE  ILL  WIND 

When  a  cyclone  struck  the  place 
Gentle  Jane  was  whirled  through  space. 
"It's  all  right,"  said  Jane,  "I  know; 
But  it  was  an  awful  blow!" 

THE  DEFECTIVE  LOOP 

When  she  looped  the  loop  one  day 
Its  machinery  gave  way. 
As  the  ground  was  frozen  hard, 
Gentle  Jane  was  somewhat  jarred. 

THE  RUDE  CANNIBALS 

Cannibals,  exceeding  rude, 
Once  cooked  Gentle  Jane  for  food. 
Though  a  nature  mild  she  had, 
Gentle  Jane  got  boiling  mad. 


234. 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


THE    TOUGH    BOILER 

On  or  after  August  first, 
Jane  was  where  a  boiler  burst. 
And  (though  she  at  slang  would  scoff) 
Let  the  boiler  blow  her  off. 

THE  CURIOUS   CROWD 

Gentle  Jane,  with  no  one  nigh  her, 
Touched  a  live  electric  wire. 
As  the  crowd  around  her  flocked. 
Gentle  Jane  seemed  rather  shocked. 

THE  LACONIC   LIGHTNING 

Gentle  Jane  at  midnight's  hour 
Dreamed  she  heard  a  thunder-shower; 
Waking  from  her  pleasant  sleep, 
Jane  was  struck  all  of  a  heap. 

THE   SHIPWRECK 

Gentle  Jane  once  chanced  to  be 
In  a  fearful  storm  at  sea; 
As  she  viewed  the  raging  main, 
Jane's  heart  sank,  and  so  did  Ja 

THE   BATTERING-RAM 

"Ah !"  said  gentle  Jane,  "I  am 
Proud  to  meet  a  battering-ram." 


Then,  with  shyness  overcome, 
Gentle  Jane  was  just  struck  dumb. 

THE    MISCHIEVOUS    FAN 

An  electric  fan,  "Piff,  poff!" 
Cut  Jane's  face  entirely  off 
At  this  rude  and  silly  prank 
Gentle  Jane  looked  rather  blank. 

THE    BAFFLED    FREIGHT-CAR 

Once  a  freight-car,  full  of  eggs, 
Cut  off  Gentle  Jane's  two  legs. 
Showing  neither  fright  nor  fear, 
Jane  walked  off  upon  her  ear. 

JANE  AND  HER  CAR 

Gentle  Jane  at  a  bazaar 

Won  a  lovely  motor  car; 

And  before  she  fairly  sensed  it, 

Gentle  Jane  was  up  against  it. 

Gentle  Jane  was  skilled,  no  doubt, 
But  a  back  kick  threw  her  out ; 
And  in  spite  of  her  elation, 
Jane  succumbed  to  sheer  prostration. 

Gentle  Jane  whizzed  through  the  town, 
Running  many  people  down; 
Still  she  gave  her  car  but  praise, 
Said:    "It  has  such  killing  ways!" 


SUCH  NONSENSE! 


235 


Gentle  Jane  her  balance  missed, 
Cut  both  hands  off  at  the  wrist; 
Jane  just  smiled  and  said,  "Good-day," 
In  her  pretty,  offhand  way. 

Jane  was  'neath  the  car  at  work, 
When  the  old  thing  gave  a  jerk; 
As  it  rolled  across  her  breast, 
Gentle  Jane  felt  quite  depressed. 

Gentle  Jane  was  wrecked  one  day, 
Crushed  to  bits  she  moaning  lay; 
Though  she  didn't  scold  at  all, 
Gentle  Jane  felt  rather  small. 

With  a  rod  right  through  her  neck, 
Jane  was  pinned  beneath  the  wreck; 
"Ah,"  she  said,  "I  must  depart: 
Such  things  cut  me  to  the  heart !" 

Jane,  when  on  a  lonely  road, 
Heard  the  gasolene  explode; 
When  this  sorrow  filled  her  cup, 
Gentle  Jane  was  all  broke  up. 

JANE  AND  HER  AEROPLANE 

Wednesday  morning,  Gentle  Jane 
Started  in  an  aeroplane; 
"Ha!"  said  Gentle  Jane,  in  glee, 
"It  is  now  all  up  with  me!" 


But  the  airship  wouldn't  work, 
And  it  fell,  with  such  a  jerk 
In  some  river,  flowing  south; 
Leaving  Jane  down  in  the  mouth. 

When  an  alligator  spied 

Jane,  his  jaws  he  opened  wide, 

Saying  in  a  tone  polite, 

"Do  drop  in  and  get  a  bite." 

Soon  they  tinkered  up  the  craft; 
Jane  got  in  and  gaily  laughed. 
Joy  and  gladness  filled  her  cup; 
"Ha !"  said  Jane,  "the  jig  is  up !" 

As  the  wind  grew  stiff  and  stiffer, 
Jane's  opinions  seemed  to  differ. 
Then  a  near-by  cyclone  showed; 
"Well,"  said  Jane,  "I  will  be  blowed!" 

But  the  airship,  soaring  by, 
Cut  a  furrow  in  the  sky. 
Passed  'twixt  Mercury  and  Mars; 
Gentle  Jane  said,  "Oh,  my  stars!" 

Onward  went  the  aeroplane; 
Onward,  too,  went  Gentle  Jane. 
Ever  darker  grew  the  night — 
Gentle  Jane  was  out  of  sight. 

CAROLYN  WELLS. 


A  Tail-Piece 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


ADAM,  Captain  Harry  Graham    . 

ADVENTURES  OF  LITTLE  KATY, 
Anonymous 

ADVICE  TO  GRANDSONS,  Anony- 
mous   

AFTER  OLIVER,  Anonymous  .    .    . 

AH,  YES!  I  WROTE  THE  PURPLE 
Cow,  Gelett  Burgess  .... 

AIN'T  IT  AWFUL,  MABEL?  John 
Edward  Hazzard 

ALL  AT  SEA,  Frederick  Moxon 

ALLITERATIVE  ABSURDITIES,  Anony- 
mous   

ALL  OR  NOTHING,  Bayard  Taylor 

ALPHABET  OF  SAINTS,  FROM  AN, 
Father  Robert  Hugh  Benson  . 

APPLICATION  FOR  INSURANCE, 
Charles  Wayland  Towne  .  .  . 

AMAZING  FACTS  ABOUT  FOOD, 
H.  W 

AMPLIFIED  SPELLING,  Anonymous 

ANCESTRAL  LORE,  Anonymous  .    . 

ANOTHER  CITY,  Anonymous     .    . 

ANTISEPTIC  PLEDGE,  THE,  Anony- 
mous   

ARE  WOMEN  FAIR?  Francis  Dam- 
son   

ARTIST,  THE,  Guy  Wetmore 
Carryl 

As  EXPANDED,  Chicago  Tribune    . 

ASP,  THE,  Carolyn  Wells    .     .     . 

As  TO  THE  WEATHER,  Anonymous 

AWFUL  BUGABOO,  THE,  Eugene 
Field 

BALLAD  OF  THE  BILLYCOCK,  THE, 
Anthony  C.  Deane 

BALLAD  OF  THE  EMEU,  THE,  Bret 
Harte 


24 
219 

153 
214 

91 

189 
41 

179 

178 

149 
72 

143 
167 
171 
219 

208 
76 

125 

141 

38 

213 

175 
46 


173 


BALLAD  OF  THE  OYSTERMAN,  THE, 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  ...  84 
BALLAD  OF  THE  PRIMITIVE  JEST, 

Andrew  Lang 152 

BALLADE  CRYING  ART  TO  STOP  HER 

NONSENSE,  Eugene  R.  White  .  106 
BALLADE  OF  BAD  WEATHER,  A, 

Anonymous 165 

BALLADS  OF  BAD  BABIES,  Harry 

P.  Taber 220 

BELLS,    THE,    Anonymous    .     .     .  216 
BETWEEN  THE  SUNSET  AND  THE 

SEA,  R.  W.  Answell  ....  63 
BOBOLINK,  THE,  Anonymous  .  .  148 
BOGUS  DIAMOND,  THE,  Charles 

Battell  Loomis 207 

BREAD  AND  MILK,  Anonymous  .     .    24 
BUNCHES     OF     GRAPES,     Walter 

Eamal 20 

BUY   A  BAROM!   BUY  A  BAROM! 

Frank  O'Malley 64 

BYGONES,  Bert  Leston  Taylor  .    .    68 


CANNY  CROCODILE,   THE,  Anony- 
mous       65 

CAREFUL  PENMAN,   THE,  Anony- 
mous        218 

CAUTIONARY     VERSES,     Theodore 

Hook 74 

CHRISTMAS  CHIMES,  Anonymous  .  103 
CLASSICAL   CRITICISM,   George   L. 

Richardson       . 47 

CLEAN  CLARA,  W.  B.  Rands  ...  94 
COMICAL  GIRL,  THE,  M.  Pelham  130 
CONJUROR,  THE,  Anonymous  .  .  202 
CONSTANCY,  Anonymous  ....  157 
CONVERTED  CANNIBALS,  THE,  G. 
E.  Farrow 85 


237 


238 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


COUNSEL  TO   THOSE   THAT   EAT, 

Anonymous 138 

CROCODILE,  THE,  Hilaire  Belloc   .  179 
CROSS    LADY,    A,    Florence    Wil- 
kinson      185 

CUMMERBUND,  THE,  Edward  Lear  181 
CUPID'S  DARTS,  Anonymous     .     .  182 
CYNICUS    TO    W.    SHAKESPEARE, 
/.  K.  Stephen 217 

DARWINIAN  BALLAD,  A,  Anony- 
mous   169 

DER  JAMMERWOCH,  Thomas  Chat- 
terton 35 

DIVERSIONS  OF  THE  RE-ECHO 
CLUB,  PURPLE  Cow,  Carolyn 
Wells 88 

DIVIDED  DESTINIES,  Budyard  Kip- 
ling   50 

DONG  WITH  THE  LUMINOUS  NOSE, 
THE,  Edward  Lear 158 

DREAM  POEM,  Anonymous  .     .     .  171 

DYSPEPTIC  CANNIBAL,  THE,  Al- 
fred E.  Dickey 29 

EDITOR'S  WOOING,  THE,  Robert 
H.  Newell  ("Orpheus  C.  Kerr")  138 

EDUCATED  LOVE  BIRD,  THE,  Peter 
Newell 194 

ELLEN  McJoNES  ABERDEEN,  Wil- 
liam S.  Gilbert 110 

ENDLESS  SONG,  THE,  Ruth  Mc- 
Enery  Stuart 28 

ERRING  IN  COMPANY,  Franklin  P. 
Adams 31 

ETIQUETTE  FOR  ANY  AFRICAN  JUN- 
GLE HUNTER,  Anonymous  .  .  140 

FABLE,   A,  Anonymous   ....  128 

FABLE  OF  THE  Two  MANDOLIN 
PLAYERS,  THE,  AND  THE  WILL- 
ING PERFORMER,  George  Ade  .  114 

FAITHLESS  SALLY  BROWN,  Thomas 
Hood 60 

FANCY  VERSES,  Anonymous      .    .  168 


FASTIDIOUS  SERPENT,  THE,  Henry 

Johnstone       22 

FIDDLER  OF  DOONEY,   THE,   Wil- 
liam Butler  Teats 153 

FIN  DE  SIECLE,  Anonymous  .     .     .  161 
FOOLKILLER'S  SONG,  THE,  Anony- 
mous   141 

FOOTBALLWOCKY,  Anonymous  .  .  37 
FOR  I  AM  SAD,  Don  Marquis  .  .  121 

FRAUD,  Anonymous 103 

FROM  THE  SANSCRIT  OF  MATABILI- 
WAIJO,  Sir  Owen  Seaman  ...    62 

GHAT,  Anonymous 190 

GOING  WITH  THE  STREAM,  Arthur 

H.  Clough 79 

GOOD  AND  BAD,  George  Barr  Bar- 
ker           25 

GOOD  COUNSEL,  Anonymous  .    .    .  162 
GOOD  JAMES  AND  NAUGHTY  REGI- 
NALD, Eugene  Field 74 

GRAIN  OF  SALT,  A,  Wallace  Irwin  .    65 
GREAT  BLACK  CROW,  THE,  Philip 
James  Bailey 209 

HAPPY  MAN,  THE,  Gilles  Menage  .186 
HARD  PIPING,  Anonymous  .     .    .  148 
HELEN  OF  TODAY,  A,  Anonymous  .  162 
HE  LOVES  A  POSTER  GIRL,  Anony- 
mous   67 

HEN-ROOST  MAN,  THE,  Ruth  Mc- 

Enery  Stuart 69 

HERRING,  THE,  Sir  Walter  Scott  213 
HINTS  ON  TABLE  ETIQUETTE,  Caro- 
lyn  Wells 131 

His  MOTHER-IN-LAW,  Anonymous  68 
HISTORY,  A,  Tom  Hood,  Jr.  .  .  84 
HISTORY  OF  CIVILISATION,  A, 

Thomas  Hood,  Jr 191 

HOME,  Nixon  Waterman  ....  143 
HOMELY  PATHETIC,  THE,  Bret 

Harte 175 

HOMOEOPATHIC  SOUP,  Anonymous  .  157 
HOUSE  PET,  A,  Anonymous    .     .  189 
How  A  GIRL  WAS  Too  RECKLESS 
OF  GRAMMAR  BY  FAR,  Guy  Wet- 
more    Carryl 100 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


239 


How  VERY  SAD  IT  Is  TO  THINK: 

RHYMES  OF  THE  BOOGIN  CLUB  129 

HUB,  THE,  Anonymous  ....  219 

HUMOUR,  Anonymous      ....  213 

HUMPTY    DUMPTY'S    RECITATION, 

Lewis  Carroll 83 

IP  THEY  MEANT  ALL  THEY  SAID, 

Alice  Duer  Miller 124 

IP  WE  DIDN'T  HAVE  TO  EAT, 

Nixon  Waterman 212 

IMAGISTE  LOVE  LINES,  Anonymous  87 
INDIFFERENCE,  Anonymous  .  .  .  216 
IN  MEMORIAM  TECHNLCAM, 

Thomas  Hood,  Jr 170 

I  NEVER  SAW  A  PURPLE  Cow, 

Gelett  Burgess 88 

INSPECT  Us,  Edith  Daniell  .  .  .  172 
IN  STATU  Quo,  Gelett  Burgess  .  96 

IN  WAIN,  Anonymous 162 

IVY  DE  MILLEFLEURS,  H.  Cholmon- 

deley-Penell 144 

I  WISH  THAT  MY  ROOM  HAD  A 

FLOOR,  Gelett  Burgess  ....    71 

JABBERWOCKY  (Rendered  into 
Latin  Elegiacs),  Hassard  Dodg- 
son  34 

JABBERWOCKY  OF  THE  PUBLISHERS, 
THE,  Anonymous 36 

JIM-JAM  KING  OF  THE  Jou-Jous, 
THE,  Alaric  Bertrand  Stuart  .  59 

KILKENNY  CATS,  THE,  Anonymous  166 
KINDLY  ADVICE,  C.  P.  Q.  Smiff    .    32 
"KULTURISED"    POETRY,    Kenneth 
F.  H.  Underwood 174 

LAND  OF  LOO-LA-LEE,  THE,  Anony- 
mous   145 

LAY  OF  ANCIENT  ROME,  A,  Thomas 
Tbarra 152 

LEARNED  FISH,  THE,  Hilaire  Bel- 
loc 70 

LEARNED  NEGRO,  THE,  Anonymous    79 


LEGEND  OF  HEINZ  VON  STEIN,  THE, 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland  .  .  .  150 
LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CAM-U-EL, 

THE,  Arthur  Guiterman     .     .     .  117 
L'ENVOI  OF  THE  CUBISTS,  Anony- 
mous   105 

LEPIDOPTERA,  Gerald  Mygatt     .     .    59 

LILIES,  Don  Marquis 103 

LITTLE  SWIRL  OF  VERS  LIBRE,  A, 

Thomas  B.  Tbarra 186 

LIMERICKS,  Anonymous  ....  225 
LINES  OF  MONTEZUMA,  D.  F.  A.  .  82 
LION  EMERGED  FROM  His  LAIR,  A, 

J.  G.  Francis 77 

LITERARY   ADVICE  TO   LOVERS, 

Anonymous 169 

LLAMA,  THE,  Hilaire  Belloc  ...  53 
LOBSTER  AND  THE  MAID,  THE, 

F.  E.  Weatherly 207 

LOFTY  LINES,  Anonymous    .     .     .  151 

LOGIC,  Anonymous 218 

LOGICAL  ENGLISH,  Anonymous  .  .  218 
LORD  GUY,  George  F.  Warren  .  63 
LOST  CORD,  THE,  Anonymous  .  122 
LULLABY,  A,  Anonymous  ...  54 

MADAME  SANS  Souci,  Anonymous  .  219 
MANILA,  Eugene  T.  Ware  .  .  .  216 
MANUAL  OF  MANNERS  FOR  YOUNG 

ANIMALS,  Anonymous  ....  70 
MATERNAL  COUNSEL,  J.  G.  Francis  31 
MAVRONE,  Arthur  Guiterman  .  .  26 
MESSED  DAMOZEL,  THE,  Charles 

Hanson  Towne 109 

MICROBE,  THE,  Hilaire  Belloc  .  .  145 
MICROBES,  THE,  Anonymous  .  .  216 
MICROBE'S  SERENADE,  THE,  George 

Ade 180 

MISHAPS  OF  GENTLE  JANE,  THE, 

Carolyn  Wells 233 

MISTER  WILLIAM,  W.  S.  Gilbert  .  146 
MODERN  MAID,  THE,  Anonymous  .  219 
MODERN    NATURE    LORE,    Anony- 
mous   30 

MONA  LISA,  John  Kendrick  Bangs  37 
MORE  WALKS,  Anonymous  .  .  .  218 


240 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


MOTHERHOOD,  Charles  Stuart  Cal- 
verley 66 

MY  ANGELINE,  Harry  B.  Smith    .  190 

NAN'S  ADVENTURES  UP  TO  DATE, 

Anonymous 215 

NAPOLEON  OF  NOTTING  HILL,  THE, 

Gilbert  Chesterton 38 

NATURE  FAKIRS'  FANCIES,  Anony- 
mous   214 

NATURE  STUDIES,  Anonymous  .     .  211 
NAUGHTY     DARKEY     BOY,     THE, 

Anonymous 206 

NEMESIS,  J.  W.  Foley     ....    48 
NEO-NEOISM,    THE,    Franklin    P. 

Adams 109 

NEW  PAPER  FOR  BIPEDS,  A  ...    95 
NEW  VESTMENTS,   THE,   Edward 

Lear 51 

NIRVANA,  Anonymous 140 

NORTH,  EAST,  SOUTH  AND  WEST, 
H.  A.  M 170 

ODE  TO  WORK  IN  SPRINGTIME, 
Thomas  R.  Ybarra 213 

ODE  TO  A  BOBTAILED  CAT,  Anony- 
mous 54 

OLD  GRIMES,  Albert  Gorton  Greene    78 

OLD  MAN,  THE,  Anonymous    .     .    30 

ON  A  JURY,  John  Godfrey  Saxe    218 

ON  A  NANKIN  PLATE,  Austin  Dob- 
son  78 

ON  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOUR,  Fred- 
erick Locker 218 

ON  KNOWING  WHEN  TO  STOP, 
L.  J.  Bridgman 28 

ON  THE  LATIN  GERUNDS,  Theodore 
Hook 217 

OPTIMISM,  N.  M 151 

OULD  DOCTOR  MACK,  Alfred  Per- 
ceval Graves 118 

OUR  DUMB  FRIENDS,  Carolyn 
Wells 67 

OUR  HYMN,  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes 172 

OUR  TRAVELLER,  H.  Cholmonde- 
ley-Pennell 99 


PASTORAL  IN  POSTERS,  A,  Anony- 
mous   121 

PERCHANCE,  Walter  Parke  ...    28 

PESSIMISM,  M.  N 155 

PICKERLICK,  THE,  Anonymous  .  .  76 
PIG,  THE,  Robert  Southey  .  .  .163 
PING  WING,  Anonymous  ....  216 
PLAYED-OUT  HUMOURIST,  THE, 

W.  S.   Gilbert 123 

PLEA  FOR  TRIGAMY,  A,  Owen  Sea- 
man   193 

POEM  OF  UPLIFT,  A,  Anonymous  25 
POETS  AND  LINNETS,  Tom  Hood, 

Jr 122 

POPE,  THE,  Charles  Lever  .  .  .  187 
PORTRAIT,  A,  Oliver  Wendell 

Holmes 178 

POST-CAPTAIN,    THE,    Charles    E. 

Carryl 43 

POST-IMPRESSIONISM,  Bert  Lesion 

Taylor 106 

POST-IMPRESSIONIST  POEM,  Julian 

Street 194 

PRACTICAL    ANSWER,    A,    Shirley 

Brooks 217 

PRACTICAL    JOKER,    THE,    W,    S. 

Gilbert 204 

PRIMROSE  PATH,  THE,  N.  M.  .  .  216 
PRODIGAL  EGG,  THE,  Anonymous  .  65 

QUATRAIN,  A,  F.  P.  A 216 

QUEST  OF  THE  PURPLE  Cow,  THE, 
Hilda  Johnson 124 

RETIRED  PORK-BUTCHER  AND  THE 
SPOOK,  G.  E.  Farrow  .  .  .  .101 

REUBEN,  Phebe  Gary 48 

REVAMPED  BY  VAMPIRES,  Anony- 
mous   91 

RIME  OF  THE  BETSY  JANE,  THE, 
Bert  Lesion  Taylor 42 

RIVAL  MILLENNIUM,  THE,  A.  C. 
Fitch 194 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE'S  STORY,  Charles 
E.  Carryl 81 

ROMANCE  OF  THE  CARPET,  THE, 
Robert  J.  Burdette 176 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


ROM  AUNT    OP    HUMPTT    DUMPTY, 

Henry  S.  Leigh 196 

RONDEAU,  THE,  Anonymous  .     .     .  145 

RULE,  A,  Anonymous 216 

RURAL  BLISS,  Anthony  C.  Deane  .  184 


SABINE  FARMER'S  SERENADE,  THE, 

Father  Prout 160 

SAID  OPIE  READ  TO  E.  P.  ROE, 
Julian  Street  and  James  Mont- 
gomery Flagg 216 

SAINTE  MARGERIE,  Anonymous  .  33 
SCARE-CROW,  THE,  Ruth  McEnery 

Stuart     .     .. 208 

SCHOOL,  J.  K.  Stephen  ....  140 
SCIENTIFIC  PROOF,  J.  E.  Foley  .  212 
SELECT  PASSAGES  FROM  A  COMING 

POET,  F.  Anstey 165 

SEMPSTRESS,  THE,  Anonymous  .  203 
SENEX  TO  MATT.  PRIOR,  J.  K. 

Stephen 217 

SETTIN'  HEN,  A,  Holmes  F.  Day  .  180 
SICK  KNIGHT,  THE,  F,  Anstey  .  193 
SKETCH,  A,  Robert  J.  Burdette  .  153 
SMOKER'S  A.  B.  C.,  THE,  George 

B.  Morewood 165 

SOLILOQUY,  A,  F.  C.  Burnand  .  .  217 
SOME  HALLUCINATIONS,  Lewis 

Carroll 157 

SOME  LADIES,  Frederick  Locker  .  218 
SOME  LITTLE  BUG,  Roy  Atwell .  .  112 
SOME  PSALM,  Anonymous  .  .  .  182 
SOMEWHERE  -  IN  -  EUROPE- WOCKY, 

F.    G.    Hartswick 36 

SONG,  J.  R.  Planche 155 

SONG   OF   THE   JELLYFISH,    THE, 

Jarvis    Keiley 176 

SONG  OF  THE  SPRINGTIDE,  Anony- 
mous   58 

SONNET  FOR  A  PICTURE,   A.   C. 

Swinburne 66 

SPRING,  Alfred  E.  Dickey    .    .    .208 
STATELY  VERSE,  Anonymous     .    .  182 
STORY  OF  ESAW  WOOD,  THE,  W. 
E.  Southwick  .  ...  180 


STRIKE  AMONG  THE  POETS,  A, 
Punch 64 

STYX  RIVER  ANTHOLOGY,  Carolyn 
Wells 107 

SYLVAN  SCENE,  A,  Bayard  Tay- 
lor   188 

SYMPOSIUM  OF  POETS,  A,  Carolyn 
Wells 197 

TALE  OF  A  DOG,  THE,  James  H. 

Lambert,  Jr 149 

TALE    OF    FOREIGN    LANDS,    A, 

Anonymous 124 

TALE  OF  THE  TROPICS,  A,  Anony- 
mous   116 

TAM   O'SHANTER  DOG,   A,  /.  F. 

Francis 120 

THINGUMBOB,  THE,  Anonymous  .  28 
THIS  Is  THE  MUSE  OF  NONSENSE, 

Gelett  Burgess 19 

THEODORE     ROOSEVELT,     Captain 

Harry  Graham 142 

THERE  ARE  MEN  IN  THE  VILLAGE 

OF  ERITH,  Cosmo  Monkhouse  .  21 
THRIFTY  MAN,  THE,  Anonymous  .  168 
THUDS  FROM  THE  PADDED  CELL, 

Maurice  Smiley 183 

To  A  PET  REPTILE,  Anonymous  .  62 
To  BE  OR  NOT  TO  BE,  Anonymous  .  178 
To  GELETT  BURGESS,  F.  P.  A.  .  .  219 
To  MARY,  Phebe  Gary  .  .  .  .196 
To  MINERVA,  Thomas  Hood  .  .  .  149 
To  MY  NEW  PET,  Anonymous  .  .  20 
To  THE  PLIOCENE  SKULL,  Bret 

Harte 80 

TRAGIC  STORY,  A,  William  Make- 
peace Thackeray 22 

TRANSLATED  WAY,  THE,  Franklin 

P.  Adams 206 

TRIOLET,  A,  John  Twig  .....  217 
TRUTHLESS  RHYMES  FOR  HEARTH- 
LESS  HOMES,  Anonymous     .     .  220 
TURTLE  AND  THE  FLAMINGO,  THE, 

James  Thomas  Fields  ....    55 
Two  OLD  BACHELORS,  THE,  Ed- 
ward Lear 17 


242 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


UPFIZI  A.  B.  C.,  FROM  THE,  Ar- 
thur Maquarie 52 

ULTIMATE  JOY,  THE,  Anonymous  139 

UNIVERSAL  PRAYER,  THE,  Grace 
G.  Wiederseim 49 

UNPERTURBED  MAMMA,  Anony- 
mous   221 

UTTER  PASSION  UTTERED  UTTERLY, 
AN,  John  Todhunter  ....  82 

VIPER,  THE,  Hilaire  Belloc  .  .  70 
VERDANCY,  Anonymous  ....  216 

WAIL  OP  A  RETURNED   TOURIST, 

Anonymous 156 

WAR,  THE  :  A-Z,  John  B.  Edwards  150 
WEDDING,  THE,  Thomas  Hood,  Jr.  172 
WE  WERE  ON  THE  STARBOARD 

TACK,  Gelett  Burgess  ....  68 
WHAT  You  CAN  AND  WHAT  You 

CAN'T,  Anonymous 167 

WHICHNESS  OF  WHAT,  THE,  J. 

A.  A 185 

WHITE  QUEEN'S  RIDDLE,  Lewis 

Carroll    .  .  166 


WHY?  H.  P.  Stephens  ....  217 
WHY  DOTH  A  PUSSYCAT?  Surges 

Johnson 211 

WHY  NOT?  Anonymous  ....  179 
WIDOW  BEDOTT  TO  ELDER   SNIF- 
FLES, Frances  Miriam  Whitcher    58 
WILD  FLOWERS,  Peter  Newell  .    .  100 
WING  TEE  WEE,  /.  P.  Denison  .     .    30 
WONDERS  OF  NATURE,  The  Anti- 
Jacobin  18 

WORDSWORTHIAN      REMINISCENCE, 

Anonymous 139 

WORSE  AND  MORE  OF  IT,  Anony- 
mous   183 

Wus,  EVER  Wus,  If.  Cholmonde- 
ley-Pennell 186 

YARN    OF    THE    "NANCY    BELL," 

THE,  W.  S.  Gilbert 44 

YE  TOWNE  GOSSIP,  Kenneth  C. 

Beaton 104 

YE  TOWNE  GOSSIP,  Kenneth  C. 

Beaton 205 

YOUNG  GAZELLE,  THE,  Walter 

Parke 86 

YOUNG  LOCHINVAR,  Anonymous  .  209 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


ADAMS,  FRANKLIN  P. 

Erring  in  Company 31 

Neo-Neoism,    The    .    .     .     .    .  109 
Translated  Way,  The  .    .    .    .206 

ADE,  GEORGE 

Fable  of  the  Two  Mandolin 
Players  and  The  Willing 
Performer,  The 114 

Microbe's  Serenade,  The  .    .    .  180 

ANONYMOUS 

Ancestral  Lore 171 

Adventures  of  Little  Katy  .    .  219 
Advice  to  Grandsons  ....  153 

After   Oliver 214 

Alliterative  Absurdities     .     .    .  179 

Amplified  Spelling 167 

Another  City 219 

Antiseptic   Pledge,   The   ...  208 

As  to  the  Weather 213 

Ballade  of  Bad  Weather,  A  .    .165 

Bells,   The 216 

Bobolink,  The ,.148 

Bread  and  Milk »    24 

Canny  Crocodile,  The*    .     .    »    65 
Careful  Penman,  The  .    .     .    ,  218 

Christmas  Chimes 103 

Conjuror,  The 202 

Constancy 157 

Counsel  to  Those  That  Eat  .    .  138 

Cupid's  Darts 182 

Darwinian  Ballad,  A  ...»  169 

Dream  Poem 171 

Etiquette  for  Any  African  Jun- 
gle Hunter 140 

Fable,    A       128 

Fancy  Verses 168 

Fin  de  Siecle 161 

Fool-Killer's  Song,  The    ...  141 


ITootballwocky 37 

Fraud 103 

Ghat 190 

Good  Counsel 162 

Hard  Piping 148 

He  Loves  a  Poster  Girl  s  .  .  67 

Helen  of  Today,  A 162 

His  Mother-in-Law 88 

Homoeopathic  Soup 157 

House  Pet,  A 189 

How  Very  Sad  It  Is  to  Think: 

Rhymes  of  the  Boogin  Club  129 

Hub,  The 219 

Humour 213 

Imagiste  Love  Lines  ....  87 

In  Wain 162 

Indifference 216 

Jabberwocky  Publishers,  The  .  36 

Kilkenny  Cats,  The 166 

Land  of  Loo-la-Lee,  The  .  .  .  145 

Learned  Negro,  The 79 

L'Envoi  of  The  Cubists  .  .  .105 

Limericks  „ 225 

Literary  Advice  to  Lovers  .  .  169 

Lofty  Lines 151 

Logic 218 

Logical  English 218 

Lost  Cord,  The 122 

Lullaby,  A *.  54 

Madame  Sans  Souci 219 

Manual  of  Manners  for  Young 

Animals  70 

Microbes,  The 216 

Modern  Nature  Lore  ....  30 

Modern  Maid,  The 219 

More  Walks 218 

Nan's  Adventures  Up  to  Date  .  215 
Nature  Fakirs'  Fancies  .  .  .  214 
Nature  Studies  .  211 


243 


244 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Naughty  Darkey  Boy,  The  .  .  206 
New  Paper  for  Bipeds,  A  .  .  95 

Nirvana 140 

Ode  to  a  Bobtailed  Cat    ...    54 

Old  Man,  The 30 

Pastoral  in  Posters,  A  ....  121 

Pickerlick,  The 76 

Ping  Wing 216 

Poem  of  Uplift,  A 25 

Prodigal  Egg,  The 65 

Revamped  by  Vampires  ...     61 

Rondeau,  The 145 

Rule,  A 216 

Sainte  Margerie 33 

Sempstress,  The 203 

Some  Psalm 182 

Song  of  the  Springtide  .    .     .    58 

Stately  Verse 182 

Tale  of  Foreign  Lands,  A  .  .124 
Tale  of  the  Tropics,  A  ...  116 

Thingumbob,    The 28 

Thrifty  Man,  The 168 

To  a  Pet  Reptile 62 

To  Be  or  Not  to  Be  .    .    .     .  178 

To  My  New  Pet 20 

Truthless  Rhymes  for  Hearth- 
less  Homes 220 

Ultimate  Joy,  The 139 

Unperturbed  Mamma  ....  221 

Verdancy 216 

Wail  of  a  Returned  Tourist  .  .  156 
What  You  Can  and  What  You 

Can't 167 

Why  Not? 179 

Wordsworthian  Reminiscence  .  139 
Worse  and  More  of  It  .  .  .  .  183 
Young  Lochinvar 209 

ANSWELL,  R.  W. 

Between  the  Sunset  and  the  Sea    63 

ANTI-JACOBIN,  THE 

Wonders  of  Nature 18 

ANSTEY,  F. 

Select  Passages  from  a  Coming 

Poet 165 

Sick  Knight,  The 193 


ATWELL,  ROY 

Some  Little  Bug 112 


BAILEY,  PHILIP  JAMES 
The  Great  Black  Crow  . 


.  209 


BANGS,  JOHN  KENDRICK 

Mona  Lisa  .  37 


BAKER,  GEO.  BARR 
Good  and  Bad 


25 


BEATON,  KENNETH  C. 

Ye  Towne  Gossip    .....  104 
Ye  Towne  Gossip 205 

BELLOC,  HILAIRE 

Crocodile,  The 179 

Llama,  The 53 

Learned  Fish,  The 70 

Microbe,  The 145 

Viper,  The 70 

BENSON,  FATHER  ROBT.  HUGH 

From  an  Alphabet  of  Saints  .      149 

BRIDGMAN,  L.  J. 

On  Knowing  When  to  Stop  .    .    28 


BROOKS,  SHIRLEY 
Practical  Answer,  A 


.  217 


BURDETTE,  ROBERT  J. 

Romance  of  the  Carpet,  The  .    .  176 
Sketch,  A 153 

BURGESS,  GELETT 

Ah,  Yes,  I  Wrote  the  Purple 

Cow 91 

I  Never  Saw  a  Purple  Cow  .    .    88 
I  Wish  That  My  Room  Had  a 

Floor 71 

In  Statu  Quo 96 

This  Is  the  Muse  of  Nonsense  .    19 
We    Were    on    the    Starboard 

Tack  .    .    68 


BURNAND,  F.  C. 
Soliloquy,  A 


217 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


245 


CALVERLEY,  CHARLES  STUART 

Motherhood 67 

CARY,  PHEBE 

Reuben 48 

To  Mary 196 

CARROLL,  LEWIS 

Humpty  Dumpty's  Recitation  .  83 
Some  Hallucinations  ....  157 
White  Queen's  Riddle,  The  .  .  168 

CARRYL,  GUY  WETMORE 

Artist,  The 125 

How  a  Girl  Was  Too  Reckless 
of  Grammar  by  Far  ....  100 

CARRYL,  CHARLES  E. 

Post  Captain,  The 43 

Robinson  Crusoe's  Story  ...    81 

CHATTERTON,  THOMAS 
Der  Jammerwoch 35 

CHESTERTON,  GILBERT 
Napoleon  of  Netting  Hill,  The    38 

CHICAGO  TRIBUNE 
As  Expanded 141 

CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL,  H. 

Ivy  de  Millefleurs 144 

Our  Traveller 99 

Wus,  Ever  Wus 186 


CLOUGH,  ARTHUR  H. 

Going  With  the  Stream 


79 


DICKEY,  ALFRED  E. 
Dyspeptic  Cannibal,  The  ...    29 
Spring 208 

DANIELL,  EDITH 

Inspect  Us 172 

DAVISON,  FRANCIS 
Are  Women  Fair? 76 

DAY,  HOLMAN  F. 

Settin'  Hen,  A 180 


DEANE,  ANTHONY  C. 
Ballad  of  the  Billycock,  The    .    46 
Rural  Bliss 184 

DENISON,  J.  P. 
Wing  Tee  Wee 30 

D.  F.  A. 
Lines  of  Montezuma  ....    82 

DOBSON,  AUSTIN 

On  a  Nankin  Plate 78 

DODGSON,  HASSARD 
Jabberwocky,     Rendered     into 
Latin  Elegiacs 34 

EDWARDS,  JOHN  R. 
The  War:  A-Z 150 


FARROW,  G.  E. 

Converted  Cannibals,  The    .    .    85 
Retired   Pork-Butcher  and   the 
Spook,  The 101 

FIELD,  EUGENE 

Awful  Bugaboo,  The  .     .     .    .175 
Good  James  and  Naughty  Regi- 
nald      74 

FIELDS,  JAMES  THOMAS 

Turtle  and  the  Flamingo,  The    55 

FITCH,  A.  A. 

Rival  Millennium,  The  .    .    .    .194 

FLAGG  &  STREET,  JAS.  MONTGOM- 
ERY &  JULIAN 
Said  Opie  Read  to  E.  P.  Roe    .  216 

FOLEY,  J.  W. 

Nemesis       48 

Scientific  Proof 212 

F.  P.  A. 

Quatrain,  A 216 

To  Gelett  Burgess 219 

FRANCIS,  J.  G. 
Lion  Emerged  from  His  Lair,  A    77 

Maternal  Counsel 31 

Tarn  O'Shanter  Dog,  A     ...  120 


246 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


GILBERT,  WM.  S. 
Ellen  McJones  Aberdeen  .    .    .  110 

Mister  William 146 

Played-Out  Humorist,  The  .  .  123 
Practical  Joker,  The  ....  204 
Yarn  of  the  "Nancy  Bell,"  The  44 

GRAHAM,  CAPT.  HARRY 
Adam 24 

Theodore  Roosevelt  .    .         .     .  142 


GRAVES,  ALFRED  PERCEVAL 
Ould  Doctor  Mack 


.  118 


GREENE,  ALBERT  GORTON 

Old  Grimes 78 

GUITERMAN,  ARTHUR 

Mavrone 26 

Legend  of  the  First  Cam-u-El, 
The 117 

H.  A.  M. 
North,  East,  South  and  West  .  170 

HARTE,  BRET 

Ballad  of  the  Emeu 173 

Homely  Pathetic,  The  .    .    .     .175 
To  the  Pliocene  Skull  ....    80 

HARTSWICK,  F.  G. 

Somewhere-in- Europe- Wocky    .    36 

HAZZARD,  JOHN  EDWARD 
Ain't  It  Awful,  Mabel?  .    .    .189 

HOOK,  THEODORE 

Cautionary  Verses 74 

On  the  Latin  Gerunds  ....  217 

HOOD,  THOMAS 

Faithless  Sally  Brown  ....    60 
To    Minerva  .         .  149 


HOOD,  TOM,  JR. 

History,  A 84 

History  of  Civilisation,  A    .     .  191 
In  Memoriam  Technicam  .     .    .  170 

Poets  and  Linnets 122 

Wedding,   The 172 


HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL 

Ballad  of  the  Oysterman,  The  .    84 

Our  Hymn 172 

Portrait,   A     k    .......  178 

H.  W. 

Amazing  Facts  about  Food  .    .  143 

IRWIN,  WALLACE 

Grain  of   Salt,  A 65 


J.  A.  A. 

Whichness  of  What,  The  .    .    .  185 


JOHNSON,  BURGES 

Why  Doth  a  Pussycat?    . 


.  211 


JOHNSON,  HILDA 

Quest  of  the  Purple  Cow,  The  .  124 

JOHNSTONS,  HENRY 

Fastidious  Serpent,  The  ...    22 

KEILEY,  JARVIS 
Song  of  the  Jellyfish,  The  .    .  176 

KIPLING,  RUDYARD 
Divided  Destinies 


LAMBERT,  JAS.  H.,  JR. 
Tale  of  a  Dog,  The  %. 


50 


.  149 


LANG,  ANDREW 
Ballade  of  the  Primitive  Jest     .  152 

LEAR,  EDWARD 

v    Cummerbund,  The 181 

Dong  with  the  Luminous  Nose, 

The 158 

New  Vestments,  The  ...        .51 
Two  Old  Bachelors,  The  ...    17 

LEIGH,  HENRY  S. 

Romaunt  of  Humpty  Dumpty, 
The 196 

LELAND,  CHAS.  GODFREY 

Legend  of  Heinz  von  Stein  .    .  150 

LEVER,  CHARLES 

Pope,  The 187 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


247 


LOCKER,  FREDERICK 

On  a  Sense  of  Humour       .    .  218 
Some  Ladies 218 

LOOMIS,  CHAS.  BATTELL 

Bogus  Diamond,  The  .    .    .    .207 

MAQUARIE,  ARTHUR 
From  The  Uffizi,  A.  B.  C. .     .    .    52 

MARQUIS,  DON 

For  I  Am  Sad 121 

Lilies 103 

MENAGE,  GILLES 
Happy  Man,  The 186 

MILLER,  ALICE  DUEB 
If  They  Meant  All  They  Said  .  124 

MONKHOUSE,  COSMO 

There  Are  Men  in  the  Village  of 
Erith       21 

MOREWOOD,  GEO.  B. 
Smoker's  A.  B.  C.,  The    ...  165 

MOXON,  FREDERICK 
All  at  Sea 41 

MYGATT,  GERALD 
Lepidoptera 59 

NEWELL,  PETER 

Educated  Love  Bird,  The  .    .    .  194 
Wild  Flowers 100 

NEWELL,  ROBERT  H.  (Orpheus  C. 

Kerr) 
Editor's  Wooing,  The  ....  138 

N.  M. 

Optimism 151 

Pessimism 155 

Primrose  Path,  The 216 

O'MALLEY,  FRANK 
Buy  a  Barom !  Buy  a  Barom !    .    64 


PARKE,  WALTER 

Perchance 28 

Young  Gazelle,  The 86 

PELHAM,  M. 

Comical  Girl,  The 130 

PLANCHE,  J.  R. 

Song  .    


155 


PROUT,  FATHER 

Sabine  Farmer's  Serenade,  The  160 

PUNCH 

Strike  among  the  Poets,  A.  .     .    64 

RAMAL,  WALTER 

Bunches  of  Grapes 20 

RANDS,  W.  B. 

Clean  Clara  94 


RICHARDSON,  GEO.  L. 
Classical  Criticism  . 


47 


SAXE,  JOHN  GODFREY 
On  a  Jury 218 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER 
The  Herring 213 

SEAMAN,  SIR  OWEN 
From  the  Sanscrit  of  Matabili- 

waijo 62 

Plea  for  Trigamy,  A    ....  193 

SMIFF,  0.  P.  Q. 
Kindly  Advice 32 

SMILEY,  MAURICE 
Thuds  from  the  Padded  Cell    .  183 

SMITH,  HARRY  B. 
My  Angeline 190 

SOUTHEY,  ROBERT 
The  Pig 163 

SOUTHWICK,  W.  E. 
Story  of  Esaw  Wood,  The    .    .  180 

STEPHEN,  J.  K. 

Cynicus  to  W.  Shakespeare  .    .  217 


248 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


School     140 

Senex  to  Matt.  Prior  .    .    .    .217 
Why? 217 

STUART,  ALARIC  BERTRAND 
Jim-Jam  King  of  the  Jou-Jous, 
The 59 

STUART,  RUTH  MCENERY 

The  Endless  Song 28 

Hen-Roost  Man,  The  ....    69 
Scare-Crow,   The 308 

STREET,  JULIAN 
Post-Impressionist  Poem  .     .    .  194 

STREET,  JULIAN,  AND  JAS.  MONT- 
GOMERY FLAGG 
Said  Opie  Read  to  E.  P.  Roe    .  216 

SWINBURNE,  A.  C. 
Sonnet  for  a  Picture  . 


TABER,  HARRY  P. 
Ballads  of  Bad  Babies  . 


66 


.  220 


TAYLOR,  BAYARD 

All  or  Nothing 178 

Sylvan  Scene,  A 188 

TAYLOR,  BERT  LESTON 

Bygones 68 

Post-Impressionism 106 

Rime  of  the  Betsy  Jane,  The  .    42 

THACKERAY,  WM.  MAKEPEACE 
Tragic  Story,  A 22 

TODHUNTER,  JOHN 

An  Utter  Passion  Uttered  Ut- 
terly     82 

TOWNE,  CHARLES  HANSON 
Messed  Damozel,  The  ....  109 

TOWNE,  CHARLES  WAYLAND 
Application  for  Insurance    .    .    72 

TWIG,  JOHN 
Triolet,  A 217 


UNDERWOOD,  KENNETH  F.  H. 
"Kulturised"  Poetry 174 

WARE,  EUGENE  T. 
Manila   .  .  216 


WARREN,  GEO.  F. 
Lord  Guy  .    . 


63 


WATERMAN,  NIXON 

Home 143 

If  We  Didn't  Have  to  Eat  .    .  212 

WEATHERLY,  F.  E. 
Lobster  and  the  Maid,  The  .    .  207 

WELLS,  CAROLYN 

Asp,  The 38 

Diversions  of  the  Re-echo  Club : 

Purple  Cow  Sequence  ...  88 
Hints  on  Table  Etiquette  .  .  131 
Mishaps  of  Gentle  Jane  .  .  .  233 
Our  Dumb  Friends  ....  67 
Styx  River  Anthology  ....  107 
Symposium  of  Poets,  A  ...  197 

WHITCHER,  FRANCES  MIRIAM 
Widow  Bedott  to  Elder  Sniffles    58 

WHITE,  EUGENE  R. 
Ballade  Crying  Art  to  Stop  Her 
Nonsense  .  106 


WIEDERSEIM,  GRACE  G. 
Universal  Prayer,  The  . 

WILKINSON,  FLORENCE 
A  Cross  Lady     .    .    . 


49 


185 


YBARRA,  THOMAS 

Lay  of  Ancient  Rome  ....  152 
Little  Swirl  of  Vers  Libre,  A  .  186 
Ode  to  Work  in  Springtime  .  213 


YEATS,  WILLIAM  BUTLER 
Fiddler  of  Dooney,  The  . 


.  153 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

We  are  indebted  to  Grosset  &  Dunlap  for  permission  to  reprint  "Good  James 
and  Naughty  Reginald"  and  "The  Awful  Bugaboo"  from  Eugene  Field's 
"Nonsense  for  Young  and  Old."  We  are  also  the  debtors  of  John  Lane  Com- 
pany who  have  permitted  us  to  take  from  "New  Rhymes  for  Old,"  by  Anthony 
C.  Deane,  the  two  poems,  "The  Ballad  of  the  Billycock"  and  "Rural  Bliss."  We 
acknowledge  the  kindness  of  Duffield  &  Company  who  permit  us  the  reprinting 
of  "Adam"  and  "Theodore  Roosevelt"  by  Captain  Harry  Graham.  For  the  use 
of  the  two  verses  of  Lewis  Carroll's,  "The  White  Queen's  Riddle"  and  "Humpty 
Dumpty's  Recitation"  and  the  accompanying  cut,  taken  from  "Through  the 
Looking  Glass,"  we  are  grateful  to  The  Macmillan  Company.  To  Harper  & 
Brothers  we  owe  acknowledgment  for  Peter  Newell's  "Wild  Flowers"  and  "The 
Educated  Love  Bird"  which  appeared  in  Harper's  Magazine.  Here  also 
appeared  in  the  department  called  "The  Editor's  Drawer"  Guy  Wetmore  Carryl's 
"The  Artist,"  for  the  use  of  which  we  are  further  indebted  to  Harper  &  Brothers, 
as  well  as  for  Arthur  Guiterman's  "Legend  of  the  First  Cam-u-el"  and  "Mav- 
rone."  John  W.  Luce  &  Company  have  kindly  allowed  us  to  reprint  "Applica- 
tion for  Insurance"  by  Gideon  Wurdz  (Charles  Wayland  Towne).  The  Metro- 
politan Magazine  generously  permits  the  use  of  the  two  anonymous  poems  "An- 
cestral Lore"  and  "A  Tale  of  the  Tropics."  For  "The  Converted  Cannibals"  and 
"The  Retired  Pork  Butcher  and  the  Spook,"  taken  from  "Absurd  Ditties"  by  G. 
E.  Farrow,  we  are  indebted  to  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Company.  Burges  Johnson's 
"Why  Doth  a  Pussycat1?"  from  his  "Animal  Rhymes,"  comes  to  us  through  the 
generosity  of  T.  Y.  Crowell  &  Company.  Edward  Lear's  "The  Two  Old  Bache- 
lors," selected  from  his  "Jingles  and  Limericks,"  is  here  possible  by  the  kindness 
of  Little,  Brown  &  Company.  To  Houghton  Mifflin  Company  we  are  grateful  for 
"The  Post  Captain"  and  "Robinson  Crusoe's  Story,"  selected  from  "The  Ad- 
miral's Caravan"  by  Charles  E.  Carryl;  also  for  "The  Legend  of  Heinz  von 
Stein,"  selected  from  Charles  Godfrey  Leland's  poems,  and  for  "The  Ballad  of  the 
Emeu"  by  Bret  Harte,  and  Bayard  Taylor's  "All  or  Nothing,"  and  his  poem 
"A  Sylvan  Scene,"  as  well  as  for  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes's  two  verses  "A 
Portrait"  and  "Our  Hymn."  To  The  Century  Company  we  are  indebted  for  the 
republishing  of  "The  Henroost  Man"  and  "The  Endless  Song"  by  Ruth  McEnery 
Stuart,  chosen  from  her  "Daddy  Do-Funny  Jingles,"  and  for  "Maternal 
Counsel,"  "A  Lion  Emerged  from  His  Lair"  and  "A  Tarn  o'  Shanter  Dog," 
taken  from  "Cheerful  Cats"  by  J.  G.  Francis. 


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